


White Collar: An unofficial novel - part 3

by AltanKatt



Series: White Collar Unofficial Novel [3]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Bromance, Crime, Cuffs, Episode Related, Episode: s01e06 All In, Episode: s01e07 Free Fall, Episode: s01e08 Hard Sell, FBI, Forgery, Friendship, Gen, Handcuffs, Prison, Trust, Trust Issues, White Collar Crime, White Collar as a novel, con artist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-07-23 23:10:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 51,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20016325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AltanKatt/pseuds/AltanKatt
Summary: This is the story of the tv series as a novel. The dialog follows the series, but there are also new scenes filling the gaps in the story. I wanted to capture the spirit of White Collar and the friendship between Peter and Neal. Part 3 starts with "All in" and ends with "Hard sell".In here you'll find Neal jumping out from the judge's chamber and El offering milk and cookies to distract the FBI, while Neal slips in the back door.





	1. Back in business

It was Monday morning and Peter knocked on Neal's door. He heard him call for him to come in on the other side so he opened the door. And there he was, young, handsome, smiling and charming like sunshine on a rainy day. God, how he missed having him around the past four weeks. He had dropped by to see him once or twice a week, but an hour with a beer was hardly the same thing.

"Ready to go back to work?" Peter asked.

"I've been ready for weeks, Peter. It was you who didn't want me there, remember?" Neal replied with a beam. Peter did not debate that.

"Figured you didn't mind to walk to the office," he grinned in return.

Neal flipped his fedora in an elegant move which landed it on his head.

"It'll be nice to be able to move more than sixteen feet in one direction without having to turn around, yeah."

Perhaps the thought of house arrest would keep him from doing some of his impulsive stunts, after all, Peter thought. He watched the kid as they walked along the streets of Manhattan. Neal had not told him, but even if he had books, paints, and a view, Peter was sure Neal had longed for human company and action. He was impressed that his pet convict managed to stay put and do his time without mishaps. June had probably been around more than she should, but it was her house. Besides, if it helped Neal to keep the deal, then he had no arguments against her visiting.

"I've got a new case ready for you. Figured you should get a light start."

"Please tell me this isn't gonna be another mortgage fraud case," Neal returned.

"What's wrong with mortgage fraud cases?"

"They're boring. You stare at paperwork all day."

Peter glanced at him. Unbelievable, this guy.

"You could stare at prison bars all day," he reminded the kid and began to smile the second he said it.

"Are you still playing that card?"

Peter grinned.

"Makes me smile."

"Glad I can make you happy."

Who would have thought this would be a standing joke between them? Though it was the harsh reality they both were aware of, they could use it for fun. In Peter's experience, you were better off if you addressed the elephant in the room. He had done so with Neal and his anklet and his background and the irony of him working for the FBI after they chased him for three years. It had worked. Neal had an anklet, sure, but Peter had noted that he no longer bothered to hide it. And everyone at the white collar office treated the kid as part of the team, with one or two good-hearted jokes, as they would with anyone on the team.

"Morning, Peter." Jones rose from his desk file in hand. "Glad to see you again, Caffrey."

"Glad to see you too, Jones."

The agent grinned and handed Neal the file.

"Mortgage fraud?" the kid asked and gave them both a smile as his question was answered with nods from both Peter and Jones.

"See you at lunch," Peter said and went to his office. He saw Neal placing his hat on the Socrates' head he kept on his desk and sat down. It was good to have him back.

Neal was glad to be out of the house arrest. It drained him. He missed people. It had not been torture as the solitary for four weeks in the prison had been. But he had to admit that he did not want to be in house arrest on a regular basis. What he had pulled off had been fun and a painting had been returned to its rightful owner, but it had a price and he had better remember it. He had to keep in mind that he almost ended up in prison, too. Peter would indeed put him back if needed.

He did not hold this against Peter. On the contrary. It was a comfort to know that his handler could not be bought or persuaded or even easily manipulated. Peter had always treated him fair and showed that he had faith in him.

By the end of Tuesday, he was back on the working routine. Mozzie could not understand how he managed. Neal had never told him that he kind of liked the idea of a structured life.

At Friday he asked for an early and long lunch and now he stood by Grand Central Station scanning every passing face for Kate. The first Friday after he found Kate's letter he had not been able to get away. The following four he had been in house arrest. At last, he had been able to get away. Desk job had its advantages.

Suddenly Mozzie stepped out from a bakery with a large cookie in his hand. Neal sighed. He liked and trusted his friend, but they had seen each other every afternoon this week to catch up. And this was, in either case, something he wanted to do alone. Especially since Mozzie expressed a dislike and mistrust for Kate.

"Forbidden romantic meetings are kind of a personal thing, Mozz," he rebuked him.

"Like I was gonna let you come alone. What if the guy with the ring planted that note?"

"He didn't."

"You'll be happy I came when a red laser dot suddenly appears on your forehead."

Why did he have to be so paranoid? Was Grand Central Station a likely place to get shot?

"Enough with the hero talk, Haversham."

"Okay… Maybe she wrote it three days before we found it or maybe three months? And it was more than a month ago since we found it anyway."

"She'll be here." Of that he was certain.

"Well, it is Friday and it was noon. So where is she?"

That was a justified question.

Neal was just about to tell his friend that ten past twelve was not odd when he heard a phone ring. And not a melody from a cell-phone. A classic analog sound. Located the sound. A phone booth nearby. He ran and yanked the receiver to his ear.

"Kate?"

"Neal?" It was her voice! What a relief to know she was alive.

"Kate, where are you?"

"I don't have a lot of time." The sound in the background… The honking car, he heard it nearby himself, too. He scanned around.

"You're here," he mumbled.

"Neal, are you still there? Neal?"

There she was! On the upper level. She was alive and well and…

"Hi," he smiled.

"Hi."

"Stay there, I'm coming—"

"No. Neal—" she objected. "Neal, he's close."

"The man with the ring?"

"Yes."

"I don't care." He just wanted to hug her, to hold her, to kiss her. To finish where they left off over four years ago. It has been so long. So long.

"Listen. I need you to tell me where you hid everything."

"What?" He did not know what he had expected. Maybe something about longing and missing, but not this.

"The money, the bonds, the art, all of it," she continued.

"Why?"

"He wants something. Something you took. Something you hid."

"I hid a lot of things."

"Well, then give him everything. If he gets what he wants, he'll let me come back."

"Who is he?"

"I can't tell you. It's too dangerous for you."

What? Too dangerous? It did not make any sense. Nothing he had hidden was worth kidnapping and blackmailing.

"Why? Kate, just tell me. I can protect you."

"This is the only way you can help me. You always told me I had to trust you. Well, now you have to trust me. I wanna come home. Please just tell me where you hid everything."

If there was something criminal life had taught him it was that it did not work to give them what they wanted.

"No."

"I wanna come home," she pleaded.

"It's the only leverage I got. Just stay there, okay? I'm coming up."

He dropped the phone and ran. He heard Mozzie calling his name behind him, but he did not listen. He ran up the stairs to the upper roads and ran to the front of the station where he had seen Kate.

But she was gone. He called for her. He screamed her name. But she was gone.


	2. Pai Gow

When Neal was picked up by Peter the next Monday morning he had spent the whole weekend walking almost every street of Manhattan within his radius.

"Still up for a to walk to the office?" Peter asked.

"You've been checking my anklet."

"Yup," his handler agreed.

When they stepped out of the elevator two people burst passed them and the whole office was at a stir.

"Why all the craziness?" Neal asked as they passed the double glass doors.

"I don't know," Peter replied, frowning. "This can't be good."

Lauren saw them and hurried to meet them.

"Peter, Hughes wants to see you right away."

"All right."

Peter left for Hughes' office. Neal took off his hat.

"So is this what it looked like when I escaped?" he asked her.

"I don't know. I was working on important cases." So cheap, Neal sighed.

"What's going on?" he wanted to know as he tagged along when she walked back into the stir in the office.

"The bureau is missing an agent."

He watched Peter pacing in front of Hughes desk and his boss talking to him.

"That isn't good." So his hunch that this was about a person and it was urgent had been true.

"Yeah," Lauren agreed. "He's an undercover from the D.C. office. We lost contact with him 12 hours ago."

"What do you think happened?" Neal knew undercover could be dangerous but disappearing for twelve hours? He thought it sounded odd.

"I don't know. Could be in trouble, could be laying low. We're not sure."

"Listen to me," Neal overheard Hughes saying. "We need somebody who understands money laundering."

He did not hear Peter's reply. Hughes rose from his chair and walked to the railing outside his room, facing the open office of the white-collar unit. When he waved in their direction Lauren moved but the legendary agent rose a hand to stop her and then pointed at Neal with two fingers. He did not wait to see if Neal got the point but walked straight into the conference room.

Neal grinned all over his face when he turned to Lauren.

"Excuse me. I have an important case to deal with." Cheap, but he could not help himself.

When Peter joined them in the conference room Neal hovered by the door and Hughes scanned their cluttered white-board.

"Sit down," he told the kid as he passed him. Peter emptied the box of Pai Gow tiles he had brought with him on the table. The kid frowned but did not comment so Peter walked up to the white-board and pointed at a photo.

"This is Agent Mark Costa. He was posing as a drug trafficker, looking to clean some dirty cash through this guy." He pointed at another photo. "Lao Shen, money launderer out of China. Costa was working him until last night."

"According to his last contact," Hughes continued, "Lao was making a pit stop in New York for 72 hours and after that, he boards a flight to the homeland and we lose him." He folded his arms and gazed at Neal.

"So why you telling me this?" the kid asked, not getting his part in this.

"Nicholas Halden," Hughes returned, keeping his eyes on Neal.

"Who?"

Of course he would say that. Innocent as ever.

"Cut the crap," Peter sighed.

"We know he's one of your aliases," Hughes cut the chase short. Neal probably did not have a clue the FBI knew about him. It had never been part of the trial and Peter had never brought it up during the interrogation, since he did not see the point. They had never been able to prove Neal and Nick were the same person.

"You created him to launder cash through that Canary Islands scam you ran in '04," Peter informed him. "Multimillionaire with a penchant for gambling? Ringing any bells?"

"I may have heard of him," Neal admitted. It was a start. "Are you willing to offer him full immunity?"

Peter and Hughes exchanged a look. It was his boss' call. Peter did not have the authority and it was Hughes who insisted on bringing Neal into this.

"Done," the senior agent declared. "I don't give a damn what you did five years ago. I wanna find my agent."

That simplified things a lot, Peter thought. That was one of the reasons he had such respect for his boss. He knew how to prioritize.

"Then what can Nick do to help?" Neal smiled at once in return.

"We want you to make contact with Lao using this identity," Hughes told him. "What do you know about Pai Gow?"

"I know it sounds delicious."

Peter gave him a face. They had an agent missing and he made jokes?

"It's a Chinese version of poker played with dominoes," Neal added quickly holding one of the tiles on the table, and then admitted: "Not really my game."

"Make it your game," Peter ordered. "Lao likes to contact new clients using certain hands or bets. He'll be playing an underground table in Chinatown tomorrow night."

"I'm not gonna lie to you. This is a dangerous one, Caffrey."

Neal did not for a second twitch in that charming smile of his as he let the dominoes he had arranged on the table fall one after another.

"High stakes. I'm in," the kid confirmed, just like that.

Peter glanced at him. He must have had too much desk work. And that house arrest… Why did he have to be so easily bored so he threw himself headlong into danger without thinking? He took a paper out of a file and handed it to Neal.

"A list of the codes you need to reach out when you play. You take those tiles and go home. Learn the game," Peter instructed him. "Be back here tomorrow morning."

Neal could not believe he was watching a Hong Kong B movie with Mozzie. They played Pai Gow as an essential part of the story, but it was not exactly a rulebook.

"I asked you to teach me the game," he remarked. "This movie is terrible."

"Wait," Mozzie waved for him and hushed him, not taking his eyes from the screen.

'Let's take this to the next level,' an actor with less skill for acting than his hairdryer said. 'You took it to the next level when you killed my family' the young hero returned who trusted a toothpick in his mouth would work instead of acting. Neal zoomed out.

"How did they know about Nick Halden?" Neal wondered aloud. Mozzie once again hushed him. They obviously did not have any proof, but they had not had that for most of the things Peter had talked about during the interrogation. And Peter had not asked about Nick then. Still, they knew. How? And what else did they know?

"Let's be honest," Mozzie focused on him for a second. "Nick was not your best work. He's no Steve Tabernacle."

"Steve was a good man," Neal smiled.

"Steve is a good man," Mozzie corrected him. "Besides, you should be more concerned with what the guy with the ring wants."

True.

"I don't know. I've stolen a lot of stuff in my lifetime."

"Maybe Poe's Tamerlane book?"

"No. Sold that a while back. The Tamayo painting?" Neal suggested in return.

"Not worth all this," Mozzie objected.

"Washington's love letters?"

"Seriously, I don't even know why you stole those in the first place. Martha— Oh, this is my favorite part." And Mozzie was gone in the film again. His friend was educated and smart and he loved this waste of a movie. To his utter surprise and terror, he saw Moz mime to the words in the film.

Then for the first time in quite a while they saw the gaming table. Neal's attention was back in an instant.

"Okay, what are they doing right now?"

"Oh, they're drawing from the woodpile," Moz answered as if he was reminded of why they were watching the film in the first place.

"With these tiles," he continued, "they make two hands… Oh, wait… Wait. Shh, Shh!"

The hero turned over a tile not looking like a domino tile at all since it had a white bird or something on it.

"He just played the death tile," Moz told him with a grin.

"'Death tile'?"

"Well, the movie takes a few liberties," his friend explained without taking his eyes from the screen.

What? He was about to play the real game with real gangsters!

"Then why are we watching it?"

"It's a cult classic!"

"Okay, fine." Neal paused the film. Mozzie sighed but handled it well.

"What do you have to do?" he asked.

"Fold above the bank. If I get a better hand than the dealer and throw it away, Lao knows I'm a prospect."

"Okay…" Mozzie scanned the tiles on the sofa table. "Well, ideally you want something like this." He put four tiles together. "These are some of the best tiles you can get. You trash a hand like this and you're in. It's like folding pocket aces."

"All right. Then let's practice."

"All you have to do is lose," Mozzie shrugged. "You wanna practice losing?"

"No, I have to win first, then lose."

June, his landlady, stepped into the room.

"I thought perhaps you gentlemen might like something to eat."

"Thanks, June," they both replied as she pushed the tiles aside with a vast tray filled with brownies.

June saw the still image on the TV.

"What you watching?"

"Tiles of Fire," Moz replied.

"Oh, Part One?"

Neal stared at her. Had the world gone crazy? Did June of all people know this crappy B flick?

"Part Two's up next," his friend grinned.

Part two?!

"Aha. Don't start without me," June told them and returned downstairs.

"There's a sequel?" Neal wanted to know. It must be a joke.

"Five," he replied and held up his hand to emphasize. "You know, I've been thinking. Maybe I should become your lawyer."

Neal glanced at him.

"You think I need one?"

The look he got from Mozzie said it all.

"Well, you almost ended up back in prison not that long ago," his friend pointed out. "You can need a good lawyer."

"True, but you have to be a lawyer first. You know, take a degree."

"Yeah," Moz nodded. "Of course."

Neal noted his friend seemed dead serious.

"You take a degree? An official degree?"

"Yeah, why not? It doesn't have to be in my real name. I have other degrees, you know."

"Why?"

"Rescue a friend in need? Did you know that lawyers have all kind of nice privileges. Like, visit prison inmates without a glass wall between."

Mozzie must have seen Neal's look.

"I know I never visited you, but as a lawyer… maybe I could get past certain… worries."

Neal smiled. Mozzie could hardly make things worse at least. Maybe he turned out to be quite good at it even.

"Sounds like a plan."


	3. Walking into danger

Peter ended the call with Tuan, grabbed the folder he had prepared for Neal and walked into the conference room where the kid was waiting with Jones and Lauren.

"Good news. We put the word out Nicholas Halden's in town and looking to do business." Peter marched up to the whiteboard with the case on display. An agent was missing here and the clock was ticking.

"Lao's people took the bait," he continued and send the thick file across the table to Neal at the other end. "We're sending you in as an investor to his money-laundering scheme. Lao's game takes place just off of Mott Street. We'll be setting up around the corner."

"At Mei Shi Lin Restaurant?" Lauren asked.

"Ooh. Been there," Jones said with a pleased smile. "Good dumplings."

"And an even better HQ for our purposes. Family that owns the place are trusted CIs for the bureau," he added as a piece of information to Neal who browsed the file. "They've had dealings with Lao. We'll monitor the game from the second floor. Look, there's an agent missing in all this. So everyone stays sharp."

Neal rose his hand. An annoying habit.

"Yes, Neal?"

"I'm supposed to gamble, right?"

"I've cleared two grand for that, and not a word about that you need more than that. You'll have to do. You've already spent most of this mission's budget on clothes for your alias."

"Budget? I thought we had an agent missing here." Neal's innocent blue eyes met his. Damn kid!

"Then you better use the money well."

Neal followed Peter down the narrow corridor between the apartment doors. Their little group of five made the whole building feel clogged.

"The FBI is truly grateful for your help, Mr. Tuan," Peter told the man leading the way.

"I just want Lao out of the neighborhood," Tuan replied and stopped by a door. "He's been taking from my business for years. And with my own debt piling up, I can hardly afford to be in his."

"I understand," Peter nodded. Tuan brought out his key, turned to his door and then turned back to Peter.

"Look, I too am grateful for your help."

Neal saw Peter nod. Handling other people's emotions were not his handler's strong suit.

Tuan unlocked and walked inside. At the door, he kicked off his shoes. As Peter did not move inside Neal followed and kicked off his shoes too, as did Lauren and Jones. Neal glanced around in the apartment, then realized Peter was still standing by the door. He looked like someone asked him to pat a spider.

"Come on," Neal encouraged.

Peter looked at him and then his shoes. As he kicked them off Neal understood why his handler had become so uncomfortable. They all did. Peter's socks were baby blue with cute animals on them. Neal thought he saw a little kitten and a pony.

"Those standard FBI issue?" Neal grinned at Peter.

"They were a gift from Elizabeth."

"One that keeps on giving." He had an anklet and was constantly monitored. His handler had childish socks on display for everyone. Neal was not sure which situation he would prefer if it had been a choice.

They walked into the living-room.

"We tried to make room," Tuan told them.

"It's perfect," Peter assured him. It was small for this family and now they added four more adults. Not much to it. The family's little girl watched as they unpacked. And it did not take long before Neal saw the small hand grab a shiny object right under Peter's hand. Neal had to turn away to keep from laughing as his handler made a pretty good imitation of a goldfish.

"Apologies," Tuan smiled and bent down beside the girl. "My daughter, Bai."

"Hi, there…" Peter tried. Poor Peter. He had no clue about kids either.

"I'm gonna need that back, okay?" he said as the FBI agent he was. He bent forward and took it from the child's hand. "There. Thank you."

The child began to cry. Oh no.

"Who are you?" Neal hissed at Peter, the rebuke obvious.

"What do you mean? I just grabbed—" Oh God, he did not have a clue.

"Do you have a business card?" he demanded.

"Hey, hey," he caught the girl's attention as Peter fumbled for a card. "It's okay. It's okay."

Peter handed him a card. He took it between his thumb and index finger of his left hand.

"Ready?" he asked the girl, now curious. "Watch this. Ready?" He made a gesture as if he was about to throw it up. "One, two, three…" His eyes went upwards as if the card had flown away.

"Where'd it go?" he smiled at the girl. He put his hands behind his back for a second and pulled the card out of his sleeve. "Where'd it go? Where'd it go? Wait a second…" He put his right hand in Peter's suit breast pocket and pulled out the card.

"Is it here? Is it right there?" He grinned at the now laughing girl. "How silly. Here you go." He handed her the card and she thanked him. Kids were such a great audience.

Peter was not. He glared at him as if he had done something bad. So predictable.

"You know, every time I see you do that, I check for my wallet— " He placed his hand on his suit where his wallet ought to be. Neal had hoped it would take Peter a bit longer. At least his handler had not thought that Neal had pulled it off. He had figured he would feel his wallet in there.

Neal pulled Peter's wallet out of his left pocket where he just placed it after moving it from his right hand to his left behind his back. Peter grabbed it and returned it to his suit without comments.

"All right. Let's get you suited up."

Time to become Nicholas Halden again. It had been a long time.

Peter and Lauren waited for Neal to get dressed in the closed, empty restaurant. No need to fill up their apartment more than necessary. The kid walked out to them adjusting his cuff. All he had done was change the suit? Did anybody see the difference? Was this how a millionaire dressed? Peter did not bother to ask. He trusted Neal knew what he was doing when it came to these things.

"Game starts in 10," he told the kid he was about to send into a wasp's nest. "You reviewed the building layout?"

"Camera surveillance, electronic pass code. Standard stuff."

Neal seemed relaxed as if he was going for a fun night.

"Any questions?

"Just one. Where did Elizabeth buy those socks? Christmas is—"

"Enough!"

Neal did heed this demand.

"There is one small problem," the kid told him.

"What?"

Neal pulled up the left leg of his pants. The anklet. Yes. Peter unpacked an exclusive golden watch from the hank where he kept it. He handed it to his pet convict.

"That's a really nice fake," Neal admired after a quick look.

"It's more concerned with telling us where you are than telling time. We deactivated your anklet three seconds ago." He gestured for the younger agent. "Lauren, if you'll do the honors."

"Be gentle," Neal requested as she came towards him armed with shears.

"Yeah, I've never been the gentle type." She grabbed Neal's leg and jammed his foot down on the seat of a chair. Peter did not like her way to demonstrate her power over him but Neal did not seem to care.

"All right," he continued as Lauren cut the band. "There's a GSM transmitter inside. It's one-way, but we'll be able to hear everything that happens."

"Everything?" Neal whispered to his watch.

"Lao is dangerous, Neal!" Peter reminded him, uncomfortable that Neal played games in the face of danger. "We're pulling you at the first sign of trouble."

"Fine. As long as I don't draw the death tile," Neal replied and left.

Peter stared. What had the kid just said?

"There's a death tile?"

Lauren shrugged.

As Neal walked down the streets of Chinatown he felt how he became Nicholas Halden. The fine material of the shirt against his skin, the suit, the tie, his shoes. Even his socks. And no anklet.

He walked as a free man. A man who had never been to prison. A man who would buy a yacht for his mistress over an exclusive lunch.

For a second he almost thought the dream was the reality. He was ready to do this. It was more than four years ago but he still knew how.

He turned by the end of the block into a dark ally. He stopped by the door under the welcoming light and saw that the keypad was off. He glanced up into the lens of the surveillance camera and glanced at his watch. What did they do? Keep a millionaire standing out here waiting?

There was a beep and an orange light was turned on at the keypad. He pressed the code, the light switched to the green one, and the door clicked. He walked inside.

And was met by golden walls and chandeliers. Just like home. He continued down the empty hall. A metal detector gave him a hint where the entrance was.

A man stepped out through a door and blocked his way with a clipboard in hand.

"Halden. Nick Halden," Neal told him. The man scanned the list and found the name. He held up a small, cheap plastic basket. Neal got the hint and placed his watch and his keys in it. Keys that were just for show. He passed through the metal detector and the guard made an extra run-over with a handheld one before he got his keys and watch back.

Peter was waiting with Jones and Lauren in Tuan's living-room. Neal's position blinked on Lauren's screen.

"Halden's golden," they heard over the speaker.

"He got through," Peter breathed, relieved. So far their intel had worked fine. Now it was time for Neal to gamble himself to being a prospect for a deal. It could take hours. Neal was Neal but even if he cheated in Pai Gow to get the right tiles it was still a great part of luck in the game.

Peter's eyes landed on a small, black hole in the wall.

"What happened here?"

"Lao," Tuan replied.

"He was in your home?"

"No, his men. They came in one night to make sure I would pay."

"With a gun?"

What kind of gangster sent people into a family's home with a gun for money? They could threaten the family sure, but most gangsters kept the violence away from children. They threated the adults when the kids were not watching.

"They fired a bullet two inches from my baby's crib while Bai was still sleeping in it."

Peter saw the little girl Bai peeking at him in the doorway. She lived in a world where she could be shot because her father had no means to pay a gangster for protection. There were criminals and there were criminals. Neal had done some money laundry, too. Peter knew the same laws applied to Lao as well as Neal, and Lao may even spend less time behind bars than Neal. And if they had been able to prove all Neal had done he would still be serving his original sentence for many years to come. Though Peter defended the system and honored it, he wished with all his heart he could put Lao away for good.


	4. At gunpoint

Neal mingled among the tables and saw one where the other player rose from his seat. Neal was quick to take it. The man on the other side reminded him of the old Asian man in Gremlins, a cult classic just inches better than Tiles of Fire.

"How you doing?" he greeted the man. "Don't get them wet. Don't feed them after midnight, right?" Not a hint of a smile in return. He just shuffled the tiles without a word.

"Never mind." He dug in his pocket and slapped a bunch of cash on the table. The two thousand he had gained from Peter, plus a few fake notes. It was risky, but he needed at least five thousand to make it believable.

He got them exchanged for chips and the game started. It was not that different from poker, just took him longer to calculate his hand due to less experience.

An hour later and he had won an additional two thousand, but not once had he had the chance to make a bet for what he really came for.

Someone held out a glass to him.

"Yong sing," the slender, gold-glittering Asian woman said. "It's a toast. Drink and win."

Neal took in her beauty. Neal Caffrey, the CI and the convict now undercover for the feds should be suspicious of the drink. Nick Halden however had no reason to.

"Yong sing," he returned before he swept the alcohol. "One down, one to go."

She sat down beside him, watching the game.

He got his tiles and took a look. Without revealing the excitement he felt he gazed at the man across the table. He placed his two hands on the table.

"Eight and seven, nice hand," the woman pointed out. It was, but his hand was better and it was time to act.

"I'm out," he declared.

As the dealer pushed the chips over at his side Neal placed his two hands on the table and got eye-contact across the table. The man had seen. And got the message.

"You could have won," the woman pointed out.

"There are more important things than winning," he told her and watched the men behind the dealer whisper.

Silence fell as Lao walked into the gambling room. The dealer left his seat and the gangster sank down in the chair with a relaxed grace.

"You folded on a good hand, Mr…?"

"You know who I am," Neal replied. "And you know why I'm here."

"For a man of your reputation, Mr. Halden it took some time for you to find the hand you needed." His voice was calm, articulated and sharp as the edge of a blade.

"Pai Gow isn't my game," Neal smiled with a little shrug. It was the truth alright.

"What is your game?"

"Perhaps we should discuss that in private," Neal suggested.

Lao glanced at the woman between them with a smile and looked back at Neal.

"We have time for that. Another hand?"

Peter paced back and forth behind Lauren and her laptop.

"Don't rush him, Neal."

"I'm always in for one more game," Neal said over the speakers. Peter grinned.

"Good, good."

"Peter, we got a problem," Jones interrupted his thoughts. "N.Y.P.D. got a tip-off. They're about to raid the game."

"Who the hell tipped them off?"

"No clue."

Peter pressed his palms against the table's surface between his two agents. Neal was in a group of armed and dangerous gangsters, unarmed.

"They're gonna get Neal killed. You get me Captain Shattuck of N.Y.P.D. before they crash this whole thing."

"Cops!" they heard someone call out over the speakers. Too late for Peter to do anything. He could do nothing but listen as guns were cocked nearby. Few times in his life he had felt more helpless.

"They're not with me," Neal assured Lao.

"I don't believe in coincidence," Lao hissed back.

"Maybe you should."

It was hard to make out what happened next because a lot of people talked around them. Then Peter heard the woman's voice.

"Lao, let's go."

So, she was with him. And she had kept an eye on Neal. What did he make out of that?

They heard the police enter and yell that 'hands on the table', 'freeze' and 'we will shoot'."

"Come on, Neal," Peter mumbled, but he had no way to get through to the kid. "Give yourself up. Tell them you're FBI."

Then they heard gunshots and bangs into metal. Peter breathed between his teeth.

Jones turned on the police radio

"— fired. Shots fired," it boomed. "White male, six foot two is heading out of the building."

"I don't think he gave himself up," Jones sighed.

"Maybe it's not him."

Neal was doing something but it was hard to tell what.

"Trying to save my cover here, guys," he called out to them through the speakers.

"It's him. All right," Peter grabbed for his jacket. "If he's not with me in three minutes, you mobilize backup. And tell N.Y.P. stay the hell out of our way." He hurried to the door and stared at the bunch of shoes from five adults on the floor.

"And where are my damn shoes?!" Those two pairs were for women, three pair left. There! He got them on and ran out in the corridor and down the stairs. It was crowded on the street with people enjoying the nightlife.

"Where is he, Jones?" he called over the radio.

"He's moving north on Allen."

"I'm getting a little tired getting chased, Peter," Neal called into his watch as he ran out through a back door out on the sidewalk "Call the cops off me."

Even if Peter would solve any issues with N.Y.P.D. if he got arrested he and no wish to give the team that pleasure of having yet another joke on his expense. Besides, they had an operation going on and an agent's life was in danger. He had no wish to blow his cover. Two cops were running his way, but they had not seen him. He turned towards a takeaway as if he waiting for his order and they hurried past him without looking.

Then he saw Lao's thugs coming the same way, and they had seen him. And they did not look like they were there to protect him from the cops.

The raven-haired woman from the gambling table stepped out in front of them, stopping them.

"It's okay. Lao says to let me handle it."

They listened to her and left them. She turned to him, waiting.

"Have I thanked you for that drink?" he asked.

"No."

"Remind me to." Was that Peter he saw behind a pillar? He kept his eyes on the woman to keep her from turning and see what he was looking at.

"Lao knows why you folded back there. He respects it. Come with me, and you can complete your business."

It was something with this woman, something he could not figure out. If she was with Lao she was a gangster too, but still… She did not give him those vibes.

"Is he gonna point any more guns at me?"

"You'll be fine. Trust me."

No, not for a second, but it mattered little.

"Then lead the way," he encouraged her.

As she passed him he took a good look in the direction where he had seen Peter. And it was him alright and he had likely seen it all. So he had run to his rescue. It was good to know.

"Is he gonna point any more guns at me?" Peter heard Neal ask. So Lao's men, as well as the police, had had him for a target this night. It ought to be a little too much excitement even for this young man.

"You'll be fine. Trust me," the unknown wild-card of a woman answered.

"Then lead the way," Neal returned.

"You getting this, Peter?" he heard Jones over his earpiece.

"He's trying to save the operation," Peter mused. He was proud over the kid, though he would have preferred that he had kept safe and not been shot at. He exchanged a look with Neal before the kid followed the woman. Peter hurried back to their headquarters in Tuan's flat.

"They're heading to a hotel on Mulberry," Jones informed him the second he came in.

"If Caffrey doesn't leave Chinatown, then neither do we," Peter declared. They were already missing one agent. "Jones, I want two of our guys positioned in the front and rear of the place."

Jones nodded and brought out his phone.

"Once that's settled, find out what the hell happened back there," Peter continued. "Get the N.Y.P.D. call log for starters. I'm not buying this coincidence at all."

"Who is this girl?" Lauren asked.

"You're gonna find out," Peter told her.

"Where do you want me to start?"

"Cams in the area. Have N.Y.P.D. pull a photo from one of those."

He would not get much sleep this night. He took his phone, sighed, and pressed the top of the shortcut numbers.

"Another all-nighter?" Elisabeth answered.

"I married a perceptive woman."

"And I married a predictable man. All right, so no dinner tonight. How about lunch tomorrow?"

Adaptable, just like that. God, how he loved her.

"That sounds great," he told her and wished he was home with her now.

"What did Neal do now?" she asked as if they were talking Monopoly.

"Nothing…" he replied. "Yet."

"You know, I wouldn't worry too much about him. He respects you, you know."

"I think you're overselling our bond a little bit."

"I don't. Good luck."

They ended the call. Peter thought about what El had said.

Neal was an expert at what he was doing and had proved to be an asset for them. Still, what stopped him from prioritizing his own needs before the team's. Why would he care for a missing agent he never met? Why had he run from the police instead of stating he was FBI? Old habit? Because he truly wanted to save the op? Or because of own profit of some sort? His heart told him he could trust Neal, but his mind told him to be aware.

When they had caught the Dutchman and Hughes and his bosses would decide what to do about Neal, the kid had promised Peter not to run and he had not. Was it because he did not want to, or because he trusted Peter to keep his part of the promise? Or because he thought they would keep him? Or because he respected Peter?

Was it the humiliation following being restrained with leg-irons and belly-chains and armed guards that simply scared him? Neal had promised not to run if Peter promised to bring him back to prison in ordinary cuffs. And he had made sure that Peter's promise was still valid just weeks ago.

He halted. It had been over a month. It was before his house arrest. It was a month of more or less gray, boring fog for Peter. Like he needed the rush of someone to chase or watch, a constant puzzle to solve.

The woman took him to an upper-class hotel and led him to a room. Neal glanced around. Was that an own pool outside the doors? But it was not a room where someone had stayed the night. There was not a personal item anywhere. Not even an unpacked suitcase.

"Nice place. When will Lao be joining us?"

"He won't be."

Neal faced her.

"Then what are we doing here?"

"He told me to stay the night with you."

Oh no. She was beautiful but forced on, or paid, dates were not his cup of tea. And not while someone was listening.

"There's only one bed," Neal pointed out as a gentleman's way to indicate his own intentions.

"I wasn't planning on sleeping," she replied. "Were you?"

This just got worse. Why had Lao put a hooker on him? He was a man of business. There was no point in this.

"Let me get you a drink," she smiled and walked to a small bar in a niche. "Lao says that I should keep an eye on you until we can arrange another meeting."

Something was not right.

"So, what do we do until then?"

"Relax. Have a drink."

The woman walked out with a drink in her hand, offering him that.

"I'm good for now."

"It's not drugged or poisoned," she assured him. She sipped from it to prove it. He was still not interested. She put the drink down and took a step closer. She placed her hands on his shoulders, stroking them.

"Why don't you just relax?" she tried and let her hands wander down her arms to his wrists. "Let's start with this."

"What are you doing?" Neal asked as she took his watch.

"Taking you off the clock."

She took the watch to the bar, took a glass and smashed the watch. Neal stared. Why had she done that unless she knew what it was? And if she knew, he was in trouble.

"Hey, that was an expensive—" he began but the woman swung around pointing a gun at him.

"Fake?"

He raised his hands.

"I am really tired of guns being pointed at me tonight." That was the utter truth. Had he ever had guns aimed at him for three times within an hour before? No. Not even within a day.

"Nicholas Halden isn't the kind of man who would wear a fake watch," she stated, glaring at him. "Neal Caffrey, on the other hand…"

Neal felt all this taking a turn he could handle. This woman, whoever she was, was not working for Lao. Then he would be dead or tied up in a dungeon somewhere.

"You know who I am?" he smiled.

"You've been on our watch list for years."

So she was here to catch him. Well, he would survive. Where did she keep her cuffs in that tight dress?

"Could you be more specific? I've been on so many, it's hard to keep track."

"Interpol."

"You know my name, but I don't know yours."

She lowered the gun. So, she was not here to arrest him. He lowered his hands too.

"My name is Meilin."

"Why is Interpol interfering in an FBI investigation?" he asked.

"It's the other way around."

"You called the cops," Neal realized.

"And you screwed everything up by impressing Lao with your fancy table tricks. Now I'm stuck with you."

"Am I such a bad guy to be stuck with?" he beamed at her.

"If you take Lao, we'll never get to his boss. He's a much bigger fish."

"Yeah, I get it. Turf wars. So why are we here?"

"You're gonna let Lao walk."

"I don't know if you heard, but the bureau and I are pals lately. I can't flip on them."

"You can botch the deal. Besides…" she leaned her head to her side, meeting his eyes, "if you help me, I'll make sure you get the one thing you want most."

Yeah, sure. Try to bribe him. Fat chance.

"What, a new watch?"

"Kate."

Of course. They had their intel too. And everyone seemed to know that Kate was his weak spot.

"What do you know about Kate?" Neal asked. If he would let Lao go, he would not do so without knowing what he would get in return.

"I know where she is."

"So do I. I want the man who's got her."

She gazed at him.

"I can help you with that," she assured him. But was it an assurance? No. 'Help you' could mean a lot of things. But here they were and it cost nothing to explore it further what she might mean. Maybe she had something to deal with. Peter had not burst into the room to rescue him. He had believed the tone of the scene before Meilin broke her watch.

"I think I'll take that drink now."


	5. In search for Meilin

"Oh, damn," Peter blinked, realizing he had fallen asleep. It was morning. "Oh, I told you to wake me if I drifted off."

"Oh, come on, boss," Lauren replied. "You needed a break."

"Anything happened?"

"Nope."

Peter saw there was still no dot from Neal's GPS blinking on the screen.

"How long have I been out?"

"About a half an hour."

"Okay. Get some rest. I'll take over." Peter was tired, but Lauren must be worse. And Jones ought to be back soon.

"Okay," Lauren rose and put on her jacket.

Something felt strange with his feet. Peter looked down and saw a sock missing.

"What happened to my sock?"

"I don't know. I was watching the monitor, remember?"

Lauren left and Peter rose from the comfortable armchair. He scanned the floor. His eyes rose and he saw the little girl peeking inside. He glared at her.

"Did you steal my sock?" Peter asked. There was no reaction from her. She probably did not speak English. And his Chinese was no-existing. Wonderful.

"You're a little klepto, aren't you?"

Peter took a seat by one of the laptops and the girl sat down on the other chair.

"Yeah. You have no idea what I'm saying, do you? No? Keep that up, you'll end up like Neal. You don't want that. Trust me. He's unreliable. He never listens to you. And he always gets himself into trouble." Gee, he sounded like he was Neal's dad or something.

"I mean, it's not like I'm worried about him. I just feel responsible. Anything happens to him, I'll have a lot of paperwork to fill out. Paperwork's a hassle. Neal's a hassle." Yeah, he was. But he liked the kid. "But then again, that was a neat card trick, huh?"

The girl suddenly grinned and waved to someone who had turned up behind his back.

"Nice to know I'm appreciated," Neal said before he had time to turn.

"I knew you were there," Peter lied.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Was that not ironic? His pet criminal did not tell him lies, but he, the fed, told lies in return.

"You also know she speaks perfect English?"

Peter's head swung around to the girl who had listened to every word he said with such a blank face.

"You're weird," the child giggled and ran away.

"I want my sock back," Peter called after her. He glanced at the older version of a kid in the doorway.

"You're a bad influence," he told him. Neal shrugged at sat down where the girl had sat.

Peter frowned.

"How'd you get here?"

"I caught a lift with one G-men in front of the hotel."

"I told those guys to call me if they saw you."

"I told them not to bother you. You get a little cranky if you don't get your beauty sleep."

Peter smiled. Yeah, probably. And Neal had walked up to the men guarding the hotel since he knew there were there. Because…

"What happened to the watch?" Peter asked.

"Oh, I must have banged it up during the chase."

Oh, sure, you hit it somewhere when you rushed out, Peter thought. Too close to a lie for Peter's comfort. But then, on the other hand, he knew that Neal knew perfectly well what had happened to the watch. Neal took it off and handed it back to Peter.

"When did it cut out?"

"While you were in the hotel room."

"That's too bad. Guess you missed all the good stuff."

I'm sure we did, Peter thought. You just told me you know when it broke. Clumsy, Neal. Jones entered with a tray filled with coffee.

"So can she make the meet happen?" Peter asked.

"She'll contact me with the time and place," Neal assured him, pattered him on the shoulder, rose and aimed for the coffee.

"Good. Jones, if you'll do the honors." It was probably not a good sign, but Peter preferred not to put the anklet on Neal. Jones, on the other hand, did not seem to have that trouble. Neal placed his foot on a chair.

"Hey," Lauren hurried inside. "N.Y.P.D. traced their tip-off on the game to a cell phone registered to a Miss Meilin Wan."

That got Neal's attention. And Jones', who grabbed a large photo and handed it to Lauren.

"Same girl Caffrey had a sleepover with last night."

Is that so? And Neal seemed surprised.

"You sure about that?" the kid asked.

"Yeah. That's from a traffic cam a block away at the exact same time the call was placed. A carrier company lists the hostess bar on Canal as the place of business."

Neal's anklet beeped and he took his foot down.

"I wanna check it out. I'm curious why Miss Meilin wants to call the cops on Lao's game. Especially if she wants to keep your deal alive."

He glared at Neal to see how he was reacting to all this. It did implicate that he had not told them the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

"You got a problem with that?" Peter asked.

Jones and Lauren glanced at him too. Neal kept a blank face.

"Let's go," was the only thing he said.

He, Peter and Lauren walked to the hostess bar, since it was just two blocks away. A group of women in short dresses stood outside, smoking like chimneys.

"Looks like our employees are on a break right now," Peter noted. His handler turned to him. "Any thoughts on how to approach this one? No? Isn't this the part where you say, 'We should buy them a drink'?"

It was something provocative about Peter's attitude. Something Neal had learned what it meant. Peter thought he was hiding something from him.

"I can't go in there," Neal answered. "It'll blow my cover." It was the truth.

"Guess I'll have to show you how it's done," Peter smirked and walked up to the ladies and introduced himself.

"Hello. Agent Burke, FBI. I wanna ask you a few questions about one of your coworkers, Miss Meilin Wan."

Neal stared. Not only was it a bad idea to wave a badge, but Neal knew an FBI agent had to do that. But speak to the women as they were stupid and did not speak proper English… Peter, what are you doing? Of course, the women got angry and started to chatter, in Chinese. With each other.

"One at— One at a time, please," Peter tried, in vain. "Does anyone—? Does anyone know where she is right now?"

"That's the same guy who caught me, right?" Neal asked Lauren, just as a rhetorical question really.

"That's the guy who caught you twice." Naturally, she had to point that out. Well, he offered it to her on a silver platter.

Peter returned to them without Neal had heard the ladies say one word in English.

"So that's how it's done?" Neal grinned.

"Yeah, that's how it's done," Peter confirmed and brought out a little recorder. "Amazing what someone will say when they don't think you can speak their language."

Neal smiled. Yeah, that was the guy who caught him alright. A well-deserved catch.

"Have a translator meet us at the office," Peter told Lauren and handed her the recorder. "Let's see what they were saying behind the back of the bumbling FBI agent."

Peter walked into the conference room and found Lauren alone with her laptop.

"Where's the translator?"

"Won't be here for another hour."

"Damn it." He knew translators were not ready and waiting for an emergency call from the FBI, but still… He wished they were. No, it was no use to get upset.

"All right, let her run. Maybe we can pick up a name at the very least."

Lauren started the recording. It was as he had feared. The only thing he could understand was his own voice. The rest was just nonsense to his ears.

"Catch anything?" Lauren asked.

"Not so much. Where're the subtitles when you need one?"

There was a giggle. Peter turned his head and saw Tuan's little girl stand in the door to the conference room.

"Someone called you a bad name," she grinned.

"There you are," Jones turned up. "Sorry about that. We're taking Victor's statement, and I guess she heard your voice. All right, let's go," he told the girl.

"Hold on," Peter stopped Jones. "I got an idea."

He was not good with children, but…

"Bai was it?" The girl nodded. "Can you write? In English?" he asked Bai. She nodded again.

"Jones, can you ask Victor if it is okay for him that his daughter translates for us?"

Jones gave him a grin.

"Sure." Jones left and was back a minute later and said it was alright.

"Bai, I want you to come and sit here." He offered him her chair. Lauren arranged the headphones. "Now, I want you to listen and write what they say, in English. Do you understand?" She nodded and Lauren started.

Bai began to write.

"These ladies are mean," she said when she reached the bottom of the page. "They think you're stupid."

"Leave that out," Peter told her.

It did not take long for Bai to translate it all. Peter looked at her neat handwriting and read what they had said. Interesting.

"Thank you, Bai. You've been to great help to us today." He turned to Lauren. "Can you get her some… ice cream, maybe?" He was not sure what was expected. Bai smiled and so did Lauren.

"Strawberry?" she asked the girl.

Peter left the conference room and walked down to Jones' desk.

"Jones, get all we got on Lao into my office. Take Neal with you."

Neal was on his feet before Jones and the two left to get the boxes from the archives.

Peter walked to his office and read the translation again. It was something with Neal that bothered him. The kid had never deliberately failed a job. He had always been a reliable asset. Until now. It was not good. It was just a hunch he got, but if it proved to be more than that, Neal would go back to be behind bars. The deal only worked if they could trust him to do his job. Had he passed one hook just to get caught by the next?

Jones and Neal returned with a cart full of boxes. They carried them up the stairs and into his office.

"There's two more," Jones told him. "I'll get them."

He left and Peter gestured for Neal to take a seat. He did but he did not say a word. Not his normal chatting. He just looked innocent. Too innocent.

"What do you think?" Peter asked.

"Think about what?" Neal returned.

"About the case."

"Lao presumably sent me an escort girl to keep me company. I must be considered a profitable possible customer."

"Yeah? Or maybe he didn't send her and she came on her own."

"It's possible," Neal smiled as he was fully aware of how he affected the women around him.

Jones returned with the two last boxes.

"Where do we start?" he asked flipping off a lid of the top box.

"Something about Meilin working the night shift," Peter replied and browsed the translation again. "A place called Red Lantern. Where do I know that from?"

"Well, it could be a club or a restaurant," Jones tried.

"Could be a sunburned superhero," Neal joked. "It's a waste, Peter. Following Meilin's not getting us any closer to Lao or Costa."

"Found it," Jones said as he pulled out a file from the box. "Red Lantern Exports. Yeah, it looks like Costa suspected it was a shell company for Lao. That's what he was looking into before he disappeared."

He handed the file to Peter.

"So she had a part-time job at a warehouse. That's an eclectic resume. Still wasting our time?" Peter asked, studying Neal. The kid gave a little shrug but did not reply. He was up to something, but what?

There was a knock and Lauren stood in the doorway. She gave him a nod to come.

"Jones, look up that address for me."

He followed Lauren out and away from his office.

"So, the results on Meilin's facial scan came back," she told him.

"You got anything?"

"Nothing. Because it came back 'restricted'."

Peter stared at her.

"Restricted? Which means she's either a CI or working for another organization." He glanced at Neal's back where he sat, still in the office.

"Run it through the inter-agency database," he told Lauren.

"Already did," she replied and handed him a file. He looked at it and sighed. Then he called Elisabeth. He was having an early lunch with his wife.


	6. Are we partners?

"She's Interpol," Peter told El as they walked with their sandwiches.

"Oh, do you think Neal knows?" she asked.

"Well, he spent six hours alone with her in a room. He knows." Why else had Meilin taken him there? Why else had she broken the kid's watch and Neal presumed he did not know? It made sense that she had done that, being Interpol. She had told Neal, alright.

"Maybe he was keeping his cover," his wife proposed. He glanced at her. Was she serious? She giggled.

"Okay. He knows."

"He's playing me!" This was serious and he wanted her to understand. This was in a way worse than when the kid stole the painting.

"Well, there's really only one reason why he would keep something from you," she pointed out.

"Just one?" He could think of several. After all, he was a federal agent, while Neal was a convicted felon risking going back to prison every day. He stopped. Of course. And he had himself to blame on that one because he had told Neal to let go and denied him help.

"Kate."

Elisabeth nodded.

"What are you gonna do?"

"An agent is missing," Peter sighed. "I don't have time for this now. Either Neal plays my game or he goes back to prison." It was the way it had to be.

"Why don't you confront him?" El suggested. "Tell him that you know."

Wise words. And he would have if an agent's life was not at stake.

When Peter was back from lunch they drove down to the warehouse where Meilin was supposed to have her part-time work. It was a concrete building in a shabby area right by the railroad in Wakefield. Peter yanked both doors. They were locked.

Peter pointed at one of them.

"Pick that for me."

It was something in Peter's voice that made Neal suspicious. His handler had promised him not to try to set him up for old crimes; That he did not seek to put him in trouble. This though, felt like a test, somehow.

"Don't we need a warrant?"

"Oh, look at you. Law-abiding citizen all of a sudden," his handler sneered. "I got goosebumps. Agent Costa already filed for one."

Neal remained with his hands in his pockets. Peter was up to something and he felt no need to be part of it.

"I don't have my tools," he pointed out to Peter. It was the truth.

"Well, I got mine," he got as a reply and Peter held out a black, professional Southord-case. Neal opened it. He found Peter oddly hard to read today. Especially now. He had no arguments against doing as Peter told him. He took a rake with several little waves on it and placed it in the lock. Then he pulled out one of the tension tools and hooked it in the lock. It was an easy job. He felt the pins one by one getting in place. The lock gave away and the door slid open.

He scanned inside. Row after row with high storage shelves. There did not seem to be an alarm system. Peter walked passed him and Neal followed. He pushed the door closed.

"I think I just saw the Ark of the Covenant back there," he joked as he caught up with Peter.

"If my face melts, let me know."

Was that a painting? Neal leaned closer.

"Neal," Peter called his attention. Neal saw his handler squat and point. He squatted beside him. Marks on the floor, scuff marks from shoes most likely.

"Sign of a struggle."

"Scuff marks," Peter specified. "Looks like someone was dragged right down that way."

They rose and followed the tracks.

"Blood," Peter said when Neal could not take his eyes of the freezer by the wall. He took a step away. Peter would open it and he was certain he was not interested in what was inside. Peter seemed to think the same, but he had to know and opened.

Neal saw a dead man inside and turned away.

"It's Agent Costa," Peter muttered and closed the lid. He pulled out his phone but then they both heard the door open. Peter waved for him to stay back but he peeked anyway. And he recognized two of the faces at least.

"Lao's men," he whispered to Peter. "I didn't see an alarm system."

"They're not here for us," the agent whispered back.

"Then who?"

"Costa."

Good. Then all they had to do was stay out of sight. Peter moved away and pulled out his phone again.

"Oh, come on," he hissed at the electronic device. "No service."

Peter's face got a stern look as he put the phone away and pulled his gun out. Was he insane? Was he about to take on four gangsters with just one gun?

"No, no!" Neal tried to push the gun away. "What are you doing?"

"Well, you got a better idea?" Peter stared at him. Of course, he had. He hurried to the narrow, steep ladder that ended every shelf and began to climb. He felt more than heard that Peter followed him. Good. They were way above the gangster's heads when the group turned the corner with the aim for Costa.

The gangster moved the body from the freezer to another box and left again. When they heard the door close they climbed down. Peter was angry.

"I let them walk right out the door."

"Would you rather be dead?"

"This isn't a game, Neal," Peter hissed. "I think it's time you and I had a little heart-to-heart."

"About what?"

"Your friend at Interpol."

So he knew Meilin was Interpol. And what Peter did not know he had guessed. And that meant that he was in trouble. That was what he had not been able to read outside. It had been a test alright, but not if he followed the laws, but if he could be trusted. Somehow, he knew he had failed that test. And if Peter could not trust him to do his job… He had fallen into the Kate trap, again. If he went to prison tonight it would be the third time because of Kate.

"Peter…"

Peter shook his head.

"Not here. Not now. I've got a dead agent just taken away in a box. Wait by the car."

Neal did as he was told and left. His heart pounded. He could run. He was way outside his radius but with Peter. He had checked him in with the marshals so no alarm was set off. What if he just kept on walking? It was not far to a Metro. He could go there, cut his anklet and be gone.

No. Peter had not done anything wrong. This was all Neal's own fault. If he ran Peter would catch him and put him away for good, never trusting him again. He had shown him trust to let him go to the car in this situation. If it was one thing he was sure of, it was how much he craved Peter's admiration and trust.

So he leaned against the car and waited for Peter.

When Peter had made all the necessary calls to get people working on what they had found, he walked back to the car and found Neal waiting. The kid looked nervous. And damn, he ought to be. Peter unlocked the car and gestured for Neal to get in. There was nothing more to do but to sort things out with him. And he did not want to do that in the office. Both of them needed a place where they felt safe. If this ended badly, he did not want to bring Neal in cuffs through the office. That was the last thing he wanted. Neal was a friend and he did not deserve that humiliation.

Peter drove to his home. They did not say a word during the whole ride.

When they entered the house, El smiled towards Neal and asked if he would stay for dinner.

"That depends if he'll tell me the truth about his deal with Meilin," Peter cut off.

"Oh, I see," El nodded and guided Neal to the sofa where they sat down. Peter had hoped his wife would have a calming effect on him, but he noted how he paced back and forth in the room. He took his jacket off, tried to shake the job off, just make this something between him and Neal.

"I never lied to Peter," he heard the kid whispered.

"You did leave a few things out."

"You don't understand. I need to find Kate. She's in danger." Kate, Kate, Kate. Always Kate. Peter sighed.

"Look, my husband really wants to trust you. But you keep giving him reasons not to," El explained. Yes, he sure did. "You're on your own on this one."

Elisabeth rose and Neal looked desperate.

"Please, please," he begged. "No, stay. Don't go."

But she did. And so did Satchmo. And there he sat, the convicted felon he had agreed to have as his responsibility. Insecure and vulnerable. Why did he not just cuff the kid and bring him back to prison? If it did not work, it did not work.

But it did work. Neal did a good job. And he liked the kid. And Peter wanted him around.

"So, what now?" Neal asked.

Damn, he had not seen him that frightened since his first arrest.

"I wouldn't take you off this case if I could," Peter told him.

"I wasn't talking about the case."

Peter glared at the kid.

"What did Interpol promise you? Did Meilin promise you Kate?"

Neal's eyes flickered and he seemed to search for words at first, then he gave Peter a pleading look.

"What was I supposed to do?" he asked in return. "She said she could find her."

Of course, Interpol knew what buttons to push to get Neal to do what they wanted. Everyone with a little knowledge about Neal Caffrey, the greatest con-man ever lived knew that 'Kate' was the magic word.

"In exchange for what?"

"They want Lao to walk."

They did, did they?

"Do you know why?"

"They're after his boss."

Peter shook his head.

"Lao doesn't have a boss."

Interpol had tricked the kid. This was just…

"You know what this is really about?" he asked Neal. "It's about jurisdiction. If they arrest him on Asian soil, they get additional funding from China's government."

Neal frowned.

"Additional funding?"

"Yeah. Half a million dollars. That's the price of a dead FBI agent." He handed the kid a file with information confirming what he had just said. To prove who was trustworthy. Neal glanced at the content, looking lost.

"You really think you can believe everything she tells you?" Peter wanted to know. Neal did not reply. Since he did not say he did, he probably did not, but he was too desperate to find Kate to see where this would lead.

"We either take down Lao now or our partnership comes to an end," Peter told him, without fuss, without any chance of misunderstandings.

Neal met his eyes with a new look in them.

"We're partners?"

The hope and surprise in the kid's face were not lost on Peter. He saw it.

"You tell me."

Neal looked far less confused and lost now than ten seconds ago.

"Partners?" he asked again.

"If you agree to take Lao down now, yes."

"So you trust me?"

"When it comes to you doing your job, yes."

The kid shone like a beacon, turning more and more into his normal confident self.

"The anklet?"

"Stays on. Don't push it," Peter warned.

"Worth a try," Neal grinned.

"So you stay loyal to the FBI and we'll take down Lao?" Peter wanted to know. "Yes or no."

"Seriously?"

Like he did not need to ask. A good sign, but Peter did not want any loopholes on this one.

"Yes or no, Neal?"

"Yes."

"Good." Peter relaxed. Damn Interpol. Damn Meilin. And damn Kate.

"So?" El asked out of nowhere.

"'So' what?" Peter returned.

"Does Neal stay for dinner?"

Peter looked at Neal.

"Would you like to have dinner with us?"

"Thank you, I'd love to," Neal replied, smiling.

Later that night when Neal walked home he thought of something Peter had said. During dinner, Neal must have been lost in thought because Peter had asked what was on his mind.

"What if Meilin has something about Kate?" he had asked.

Peter had got that 'oh-no-not-Kate-again-look' he knew all too well by now.

"Neal, I work for the FBI."

"I know."

"There is little chance Interpol got something on Kate that we don't. We had our eyes on Kate long before they did. All they probably know is that it's a switch to make you do what they want."

It could be true. It was such agony to not know for sure. But he had made up his mind. His loyalty to Peter came before vague clues to find Kate. It was not worth it.

When he came up to his apartment, he found the front door open and he saw June and Meilin out on the roof garden. June saw him at once.

"Oh, hello, Neal, dear," she waved at him and walked back inside pulling Meilin along by her hand. "I was just having a charming conversation with your friend."

She turned, smiling, towards the other woman.

"It has been wonderful to meet you."

"Likewise, June," Meilin return, also smiling. "Now that I know you're a wonderful host, don't be surprised if I stop by again soon."

The second June turned away from Meilin the smile dropped and as she passed him she mumbled:

"I'd keep my eye on that one."

Oh, yes, he would.

"What happened to Costa?" he shot at her the second he heard June's steps down the stairs.

"What, no small talk?"

"I saw a dead FBI agent today. Not really feeling like small talk."

"I'm the reason you found that body."

"You expect me to believe you left a breadcrumb trail on purpose?"

Like she took that job on the warehouse before Costa was killed so it would lead someone there later? Not likely.

"Your agent deserved a proper burial."

So she knew he was dead and had not told him. What a surprise.

"Well, he didn't get one. Was his cover blown?"

"Lao suspected he was working for a competitor, not a government. You don't believe me?"

"I have a pretty good reason not to. You lied to me about why you want Lao."

"And?"

"And you're letting a murderer go free to curry political favor. If that sits right with you, maybe I should rethink our arrangement."

"I'm just doing my job. And right now, my job is to make sure the FBI can't monitor any of Lao's accounts during your meeting tomorrow. It doesn't matter to me what happens after that."

She walked passed him, leaving. By the door, she turned.

"Oh, Neal. The man who's got Kate. I know who it is."

Did she still think it was just to push the Kate-switch and he would do as she wanted? Neal smiled. He just found a loophole.


	7. Lao

Neal placed his foot on the edge of the desk in the van, letting Lauren cut the band. With a quick maneuver, she was done and Peter made his way behind Jones and her with a new gold watch in his hand.

"Anklet off. You better not break this one. When they scan you for bugs, manually deactivate the transmitter."

He pressed a button on the side.

"Press it again, it turns it back on. And you damn well better turn it back on."

"I will, Peter."

"Once you give Lao our account number, we'll be able to scan the dirty money. Between that and the audio from the watch, we'll be able to put this guy away for good."

"Anything else?"

"Yeah…" Peter gave him a long glance. "Good luck in there."

Neal got a feeling that what Peter really wanted to say was that no matter what happened they would take him out of there alive. They would not abandon him even if he broke their deal. Send him to prison, sure, but they would not leave him in the hands of Lao. That was comforting.

He left the van and enjoyed the few minutes of anklet-free walk to the building where Lao lived and he would meet Meilin.

"Good to see you, Mr. Halden," she greeted him.

They walked to the elevator together.

"Do you have the account number?" she asked. He pointed to his head. "And you're ready for this?"

"Ready."

He placed his hands behind his back and pushed the button, cutting the signal. It was long before they would check him for bugs but whatever he and Meilin had to say to each other he did not want anybody else to hear it. The FBI knew he was in the elevator and would not be nervous.

"I'm gonna give you a new account number to use," Meilin said. "One the FBI can't trace. One three one two seven eight eight seven one."

A saguaro that turned into a tree and back again, leaning over and got two pairs of glasses, leaning the other way and then straight up.

"Got it?"

Of course.

"Repeat it to me."

"I got it," he assured her.

"Relax, Neal. It's almost over."

Was she nervous? He was not. He would take a risk tonight. But he was not nervous. He knew what the stakes were.

The elevator door opened and they walked into Lao's penthouse and into a living room with a view over Manhattan that beat his own. Two thugs halted him and patted him down. They were pros. Not even a toothpick would have passed unnoticed.

Lao sat by a table playing Pai Gow with another man. He smiled and rose to greet him once his thugs were done.

"I apologize for the scene the other night," he said. "As you know, you can never be too careful."

"Oh, I completely understand," Nicholas Halden smiled. "You'll find this to be the beginning of a very rewarding relationship for us."

"I hope so. Meilin speaks very highly of you, Mr. Halden."

Lao gestured towards the table and as they walked there a man with gray hair and a laptop joined them and placed the computer on the table. Neal made a bow to the senior man.

"The account number, if you please," Lao said.

Neal exchanged a look with Meilin.

"One three one two seven eight eight seven one." The number Meilin had given him. Not the number Peter expected him to say. But he did not hear. As he said the account number Neal slipped two Pai Gow tiles in his pocket, two with low value. Meilin probably saw but did not say a word. Peter was probably nervous by now, watching the account and see no activity on it.

The laptop beeped and the message said the transaction was complete.

"And just like that, we are partners," Lao confirmed. "We'll contact you in two weeks with your money minus the ten percent fee, of course."

"Of course."

Meilin walked with him towards the elevator.

"I did what you wanted," he mumbled to her. "Tell me who has Kate."

"It's all in there." She pressed a flash drive in his hand. He grabbed it.

"Hey, Lao," he called back. "We never got to finish our game. I'll make it worth your while. An extra 10 percent if you win."

A too tempting offer.

"Very well. Come. Lose your money."

"What are you doing?" Meilin whispered.

"I already transferred the money from your account. It doesn't matter what happens now, right?" He beamed at her, triumphant.

He sat down by the table and they played. Thirty minutes later he had lost every game.

"One more hand and I'll have all of your money," Lao pointed out. "Are you certain you want to go again?"

Oh, yes, he was.

"Just to keep things interesting," he said and unbuckled his watch and held it, nodding towards Lao's. "My watch for yours. Come on, Lao. What's life without a little risk?"

"Why not?" the gangster agreed.

And as Neal placed the watch on the table, he pressed the button, turning it back on.

Peter walked perplexed between Jones and Lauren in the van. Neal was still with Lao. They had agents watching the exits so that he was sure of. But the microphone and the GPS were still off and there was no movement on the account. What was the kid up to? Oh God, he hoped it was nothing stupid.

"The signal's back," Jones said. Peter swung around and listened. It sounded like white noise or a bad transmission, but yet not.

"What is that?"

"It sounds like dominoes," Jones said, puzzled.

Peter grinned. Neal was back in business with a plan, that he was sure of.

"You look worried," they heard Lao's voice.

"Do I?" Neal replied. "Yong sing."

"Yong sing." And two glasses met.

Dominoes clicked.

"Some days the tiles don't fall the way we want," Lao said

"Some days they do," Neal replied. "At least I lost my watch to a worthy adversary."

Peter sighed. The kid got things the way he wanted, again. Lao better say something good or Neal would be back in prison this very night.

They heard Neal leave. Another man sat down and they played instead and talked about the American who could not play. Peter grit his teeth.

"The outstanding parcels have been delivered," the other man said and Peter and Jones both focused.

"And the body?"

"Disposed of, sir."

"Good."

"A dirty business. It will be a relief to be home."

He and Jones shared a grin. Then Neal got inside.

"Anything good on the radio?"

"We got him," Peter said. He looked at the kid who smiled in that playful, innocent way he knew all too well.

"Keep recording," he told Jones and Lauren. "We go back to the office and tell Hughes."

"Hum, Peter, haven't you forgotten something?" the young charmer asked. Peter blinked. Jones held up the anklet. He could not help grinning. It was the kid who had reminded him. Neal placed his foot on the rim of the desk again and Jones replaced the anklet. Peter pattered the kid on his shoulder and they left the van.

They walked towards their car, parked a block away.

"I have a pretty good idea what you did up there," he told the kid. "Did Meilin give you what she promised?"

Neal held up a flash drive. The smartest man he knew and yet so naive.

"I bet it's empty," Peter said.

"Perhaps," Neal agreed. "But my plan worked."

Peter studied him.

"You knew the stakes."

"I did. And if it didn't work as planned I would not have blamed you if you put me back in prison. But you know I was loyal to the FBI and did my job."

"Not as instructed."

"No, better."

"Riskier."

But, yes, the kid had done a better job. Now they had something to prove he was involved in Costa's death too. If Lao kept talking they would have even more.

Still, it was troublesome that Neal enjoyed a game with such high stakes.

"You know, if you continue to keep your part of the deal, I can agree to help you find Kate," Peter said. It was probably for the best. Far better than having the kid hiding things from him and taking chances beyond reason.

"Thank you, Peter!" Neal shone at him.

The next day Neal and he ate lunch at Tuan's restaurant together with Tuan himself.

"He'll be gone for a long time," he assured the man who helped them. "Lao may as well have confessed in front of a jury with the transcript we have on him."

"I just wanna thank you, and let you know that you are welcome here any time. The neighborhood's better off without Lao."

"These are the best dumplings I ever had," the kid thanked Tuan in return.

"I'll get you some more," their host smiled and left the table.

When they were alone he glanced at Neal.

"So are you gonna tell me what was on that flash drive?"

"You were right. It was empty," he said simply. Peter believed him. The kid had risked so much for nothing. Again. He was about to say something when Tuan's little girl ran up to their table.

"Oh, no."

"Close your eyes," she giggled.

"Why?"

"Would you just close them?" Neal said.

Peter gave up and closed them.

"Open," he heard her voice. He did. And saw his sock, the one he suspected she had taken when they visited her home.

He gave the girl a grin of appreciation and looked at Neal.

"David Copperfield she ain't."

He took the sock, placed his palm together.

"Xièxiè," he said though he felt a bit silly. But must have said 'thank you' pretty well, because she seemed to understand, smiled, and ran back. When he saw Neal's face he knew he had impressed him at least. It made him feel oddly proud.

All was good again. He had a feeling he had raised in ranks with Peter at least. Life was just what he wanted it to be. They stepped out of the elevator and walked into the office.

"What's next, partner?" he asked Peter.

"Don't call me that," his handler replied and tried to sound stern, but the smile was unmistakable.

Peter continued to his room while Neal stopped by his desk. His phone rang.

"Yeah?"

"Hello, Neal." Meilin.

"You calling to apologize about the empty flash drive?"

"That was a necessary precaution," she answered. "I had to be careful with something this sensitive."

"So you know who has Kate?"

"I don't have a name, but I know this: He's FBI."

Neal's happiness was gone.

"How do you know?" he asked. "How do you know that?"

The line was cut. Meilin had ended the call.

The place he had felt within his comfort zone was suddenly a place he could no longer trust. He saw Hughes, the senior agent. Peter in his office. Did they know? Could it be one of them? No, not Peter. Lauren, who always looked down on him? Jones? He sat down, troubled. Could he trust Meilin? No. But he could not afford not to consider that he could not trust anyone.


	8. Joyau Precieux

Neal had been thinking all night and the next day as well. He had been at his desk working on a case and had had a hard time focusing. Peter had called him up to his room and asked him what was up.

"I wish something _was_ up," Neal replied. "That case is boring."

"Boring enough for you to zoom out and do nothing? Neal, even on the most boring cases I've given you, you've always stayed focused, doing your job. Not now. Why?"

"Meilin and that empty flash drive." Neal shrugged. "Got my head in a spin I guess."

Peter had nodded.

"I promised you to help you find her," Peter said.

"She called me…" Neal hesitated. He trusted Peter. And he wanted Peter to trust him. Not hiding things was a good start.

"Kate?"

"No, Meilin. She said the man who got Kate was FBI."

"No name?"

Neal shook his head.

"I'll look into it, but it's a long-shot, Neal. If she's got nothing to back her story up…"

"I know."

Peter had reacted as he thought he would.

The next morning he walked with Mozzie to eat some breakfast. It was Saturday and his friend had found a new place.

Moz was everything Peter was not.

"So the guy who has Kate is in the FBI?" he said more as a statement than a question.

"Apparently," Neal agreed. He did not know, but still, he found it likely. It must be someone with resources and influence.

"This confirms everything."

Of course, Mozzie would think that.

"Moz, take it easy."

"If you lay with dogs, you get up with fleas."

"I could live without the fortune-cookie commentary."

Kate got in trouble with this man with the ring long before he got to work with the FBI.

"Now you understand my fear of the man. You're back with us, my friend. The fearful masses. Welcome back."

Neal did not feel like he belonged among some fearful masses, never had.

"Suspects?" Mozzie asked.

"How many field offices does the FBI have?"

"Fifty-six, not including resident agencies."

"Then I have a lot of suspects." Thousands of them. A depressing thought.

"How do we draw him out?" His friend sounded eager to set a trap.

"We don't. It's his move."

Peter finished up his breakfast as he picked up his phone to call Neal.

"Morning, Peter," he heard the kid's voice in the other end. He heard sounds of traffic in the background.

"Where are you?"

"Well within my 2-mile radius," Neal replied. "Where are you?"

"I'm at my dining room table. Listen, we've got a suspected jewelry heist."

Which meant work, even if it was Saturday. It was not a matter if Neal had other plans or not. If Peter went to work, then so did Neal. Besides, the more he kept Neal occupied with FBI stuff, the better. But there was no protest from his pet convict.

"I'm intrigued."

"Meet me at 14th and 9th in thirty."

"That's Le Joyau Precieux. I'm even more intrigued."

Neal pinpointed the store on the address just like that.

"The most expensive clothing boutique in the city, of course, you'd know it. You're gonna love this."

He hung up. El dropped the magazine she had been reading.

"So, what happened at Le Joyau?"

That his wife knew which store had the most expensive clothes was less of a surprise. Catering gave you a lot of contacts.

"Don't know yet. They called and were a little light on the details." To say the least. "They may or may not have been robbed."

"So they called the FBI, not the police?"

"It must be my dazzling reputation." Or Neal's? Peter got a feeling the word was spreading about the White Collar division's new asset. Peter rose. It was time to leave.

"I don't know what can be so valuable at a clothing store," he said.

"Hopefully nothing to do with the promotion."

"What promotion?"

"They're displaying the world's most exotic pink diamond."

And he did not know about this? He should have. But fashion was not his business. He sent his wife a smile and nodded.

"That might have something to do with it."

Neal waited for him outside the store eating a Subway sandwich.

"Wow," Peter said. "That's new."

"What is?"

"Neal Caffrey eating a simple sandwich from Subway."

"Well, I had to choose between a tasty one from Eisenberg and be late and you get angry, or keep you happy."

He had caught Neal before breakfast. Peter reminded himself to check the next time. The kid had the right to eat.

"Good choice."

"I know."

They walked inside. Peter looked around. Curvy, white, glossy walls. Mannequins in skin-toned clothes. Hardly any clothes on display. Peter bounced when he realized the nearest mannequin was not a doll but a real woman standing perfectly still.

"Well, this is something you don't see every day," he said, turning to Neal. "Except maybe if you're you."

They were approached by a saleswoman.

"Hi. Agent Peter Burke," he said and the woman nodded and left. Neal got a smile from one of the mannequins. They all looked the same. How was that possible? He looked closer at the sparkling necklace the nearest was wearing.

"It's like Buckingham Palace."

"I've been to Buckingham Palace," Neal replied. "This is better."

A woman with a voluminous hairdo and the only one in the room having clothes in colors walked up to them.

"Agent Burke?"

"Yeah."

"This is a delicate situation," she began. "I'd appreciate if we could keep this discreet."

"Keep what discreet? You were vague on your telephone call."

"You're aware of this promotion?"

"A display of the most exotic pink diamond in the world." Thank you El, he thought.

The manager made a gesture towards one of the brunettes posing as mannequins.

"Forty-two carat Steinmetz Pink set in platinum," Neal said. Peter sent the kid a look. He sent him one back as to say "it's what I do. I know stuff."

"It may have been stolen," the manager said.

"Worried it's a forgery?"

"Yes."

"What makes you think it's a fake?"

"Follow me, please."

As they walked through the store, Neal stopped by the model with the maybe fake diamond and leaned closer. Peter pulled him by the arm.

There was some form of office far back in the store. No doors and the walls were just as curved, but no models. By the desk sat a man by a computer. They gathered around him.

"When I arrived this morning, everything was as it should be," the manager said. "We removed the necklace from the vault, opened the show as planned. When we were doing our mandatory review of last night's security tapes we saw this."

The man clicked and showed a black and white image of an empty room.

"Saw what?" Neal asked. The next second a masked man entered the frame.

"That's your vault?" Peter asked.

"Yes." So those circles on the wall - curved of course - were small safes.

"The necklace was stored there for 10 hours between its arrival last night and the opening of the show this morning."

The masked man pushed a table out of the frame and then the camera turned black. Peter and Neal exchanged a look. No one knew what happened in that vault except the masked man.

"That's your first clue?" Peter asked but did not wait for a reply. "Why is the necklace still on the model?"

"It's opening day. This is the promotional event of the year."

"I don't care. You've got a masked man entering your vault. I'm shutting you down."

The manager opened her mouth to object, but gave up before she even started. Peter brought out his phone and called Jones. As he waited for him to pick up the image returned and so also the masked man who waved to the camera before leaving the frame.

"Jones, get down here," Peter said. "And get Lauren here too. The whole team."

"Okay, let's go," Jones called out to the customers. "The store's closed. There's nothing to see here."

Neal walked up to the stunning model with the pink diamond around her beautiful neck.

"What's going on?" she asked, not able to remain a statue any longer.

"You just became a very beautiful crime scene," he said, beaming at her.

"Lauren, have all the models wait over there," Peter instructed Lauren. "Nobody leaves."

"We're not positive it's a counterfeit," the Manager objected. "Our appraiser's still on a plane. If it turns out to be a mistake, the money we would lose not to mention our credibility would be—"

"I've got my own appraiser," Peter cut her off.

Neal knew who he was talking about.

"Neal," Peter called to him. He nodded and approached the beauty with the necklace as he pulled gloves on.

"Hello again," he smiled at her and leaned closer. And closer. Soon his nose was hovering above her bust. He could almost hear Peter huff in frustration behind him. It had its advantages to be a consultant. Jones would not dare to do the same.

"Is it fake?"

"He's talking about the necklace, right?" he heard Lauren whisper. He would love to see her face right now.

"It's beautiful work," Neal said. The model harked.

"Thank you," she replied.

"That answers that question," Jones mumbled back to Lauren.

"I need a closer look." He could not help it. This was fun.

"Take it off her!" Peter said.

Neal turned.

"Trying to preserve the crime scene."

Peter glared at him as if he was an after-dinner snack soon to be eaten unless he behaved.

"It's preserved."

Neal smiled at the model who turned her back to her and moved her long hair to the sides, exposing the lock.

"Thank you."

He took the necklace off her and studied the diamond close up.

"No. No. It's synthetic."

"There's no such thing as a synthetic pink of that size," the manager objected. "It simply doesn't exist."

Then why did you call the FBI when you had a masked man in your vault, Neal thought. Well, it did not make this less synthetic. Beautiful work, too.

"Yes, pink is difficult to match. It's achieved by using radiation which creates an extremely fine occlusion that's virtually impossible to detect unless you're looking for it."

He held it out to the manager to see for herself. Though she had probably did not know what to look for.

"I don't know how this could've happened," the manager said, frustration oozing. "No one knew when the necklace was to arrive or where it was to be stored."

There was always someone who knew, Neal thought.

"All right. I'm gonna need alibis from everyone who worked here and anybody who knew the diamonds were in the vault," Peter told Jones and Lauren.

"What about our boy with the mask?" Peter continued with the manager. "You have surveillance on how he got in?"

"Our security cameras only record what happens on the floor and in the vault itself. We don't record the hallways. We have a back door but the alarm was never triggered. He must have tampered with the system."

Neal zoomed out. Or rather in, on the model. She seemed to be a bit like Taryn, though, eager to show off, knowing her beauty. But it was just a harmless flirt. And it sure annoyed Peter.

"You think he hacked the alarm?" Peter asked.

There was silence.

"Hey!" Peter called his attention and he swung around, facing him. "Hacked the alarm?"

"Yeah, possible if you could find the camera's blind spots and sneak past."

"Is that what you'd do?"

"It's one option."

"I'm gonna confiscate your surveillance video," Peter began, "the necklace—"

"We'll need you for questioning," Neal told the model. "What's it like to be a model? I bet it's fun. Right? Walking around catwalks—"

"Caffrey."

Peter shook his head. Seemed to fight an urge to say something, probably inappropriate.

"It's legit," Neal said but regretted it. They both knew it was not and he had already tested Peter's patience. He had called him 'Caffrey.'

"Jones, take the necklace."

The agent held out a gloved hand towards Neal and Neal dropped the pink diamond on his palm.

When they sat in the car on the way to the office Peter let out what he probably kept himself from saying in the boutique.

"Are you pissed at me for working Saturday? Because if you are, just say so."

"Am I allowed to say no?" Neal asked. "I thought you owned me."

"I own your _time_. And no, you're not allowed to say no, but I don't have to demand you to work."

"So if I'm pissed off for working on a Saturday, you'll let me off the hook?"

"Are you pissed off?"

"Will you let me off the hook?" Neal returned.

Peter gave him a glare but gave in.

"No, not this time. Are you pissed off?"

"No, Peter. I enjoy working for you, and the FBI. You know that. Why did you think I was upset?"

"Because you did your best to drive me insane."

"More than usual?"

"Yeah!"

Neal leaned back in his seat, relaxing.

"I think it's you who is upset to get to work on a Saturday, Peter. And usually, we don't have that many beautiful women around us while we work."

There was a sound from Peter that could have been a laugh. Perhaps Neal had been spot on.

They drove in silence for a while.

"I don't get it," Peter said, with another tone than before. "You go on about Kate, and yet you flirt."

Neal looked at his handler. It seemed to be a serious question. Peter did not understand and wanted to.

"Flirting is just a flirt. It doesn't have to be more than that. It's just something fun to do. She liked it too. She didn't think I was going to invite her to dinner, sleep with her, and get married just because I flirted with her."

Peter just shook his head, amazed.

"I can't see it that way."

"Then how do you see it?"

"When a woman flirts with me, all I can think of is where it will end up if it continues. And… I've got El."

"It's not like punching an irreversible I-must-sleep-with-her-ticket when you flirt, you know. Both are adults and can pull out at any time."

"I know. It's just… I don't want to wake false hopes."

Neal grinned.

"Flirting is just something you do for fun, Peter. There are no strings attached. She knows it too. It's just a way to show appreciation, to acknowledge her. Even if you leave a minute later, she still feels happy because she is seen."

"Did that model made you feel seen?"

"Sure."


	9. The short list of suspects

When they stepped out of the car in the FBI's garage Neal reflected that it was almost four months since he arrived here with Peter after his first long working day as a consultant on a temporary basis. One of those months he had spent in house arrest. Quite a large portion of the time percent-wise. Yet, it felt like his natural habitat now, his work with Peter, in FBI's White Collar unit.

As they took the elevator, Peter began talking about the jewelry heist again. Neal would begin searching for suspects from a competence point of view. There were not that many that could make a diamond like that. Neal nodded, absent-minded. He was already going through a list in his memory of every criminal he ever heard of that could fit the profile.

They walked into the office.

"ERT's going over the alarm system but this guy's a pro," Peter said. "Think they'll find any prints?"

"No."

Neal's eyes fell upon a man sitting with his back to him in the conference room speaking to Hughes. It was something about his pose, something intimidating.

"You okay?" Peter asked. The man glanced over his shoulder in their direction.

"Who's that?"

Peter looked too.

"I don't know. Hughes doesn't look happy."

Jones joined them.

"OPR's here," he informed them with a sigh.

"That explains why," Peter smirked.

"OPR?"

"Office of Professional Responsibility," Peter translated. "Police have Internal Affairs. We have OPR."

So this was someone investigated them? Could not be a good sign. There stood a man outside the conference room who probably belonged to OPR too. Looked like a man with a constant smirk glued to his face.

"Hughes wants you in the office," Jones said to Peter.

"Of course he does."

Peter left towards the conference room. The OPR-man glanced over his shoulder again and looked straight at Neal. It was a curious face. Well, not that strange. It was not every day the criminal they caught became consultants. Neal walked to his desk.

Peter walked into the conference room where Hughes and the man from OPR sat. He had a gut feeling this would not be pleasant but he could not figure out anything he had done that would draw the attention of OPR. The man was not looking at him when he walked inside though. He glanced over his shoulder at Neal.

"Agent Burke, this is Garrett Fowler," Hughes presented the man.

Fowler extended his hand and Peter shook it.

"OPR."

"Bad news travels fast," Fowler said.

"Yes, it does."

"As far as anyone knows," Hughes began, "he's here for a standard review."

Peter knew what that meant. It meant the opposite. And as a man of honesty and open cards, he immediately disapproved of it all. He sat down at the end of the table, between his boss and the OPR man.

"Yeah, because that line always works. Nobody's gonna buy that bridge today."

Peter glanced at Fowler's paper on the table.

"That's my file."

"Yes, it is," Fowler confirmed. "It's impressive work," he said as he browsed through the content.

Peter waited, impatient.

Fowler closed the file and looked him stern in the eye.

"I wanted to talk about the case you're currently investigating," he said.

"The jewelry heist? Why?"

"The only people that knew that diamond was gonna be placed in the vault were a few key N.Y.P.D. brass," Fowler said. "And a handful of FBI agents."

"You think it's an inside job," Peter concluded.

Fowler glanced at Hughes. Peter had a clue what that look meant.

"And you already have a suspect, don't you?"

"You know where Neal Caffrey was last night?" the man from OPR returned with a harshness that Peter did not like at all. He turned to his boss.

"Am I being interrogated here?"

"You're not," Hughes replied with a softness in his voice and a glare at Fowler.

Peter relaxed. It was not he who was in trouble. It was Neal. And in this case, it was no trouble.

"This whole thing is a waste of time," he told Fowler. "Caffrey didn't do it. He wears an electronic anklet. It records everywhere he goes. Just pull it up."

"Oh, we did that."

"And?"

"Some of the data's missing for last night."

"Missing?"

"Went dark for six hours."

"Impossible. That anklet can't be tampered with."

"No, it can't," the man from OPR agreed, "but evidently, the database where the information is stored can be. Someone wiped out six hours of tracking data."

That did not make Neal guilty of anything! He had not wiped the data. He did not have that kind of access.

"Then I suggest that you lurk around the U.S. Marshal's office. They're the people who monitor that."

Hughes leaned forward.

"Caffrey belongs to the Bureau," he reminded Peter. "That makes him our problem."

Peter sent Fowler and his smug face a glare.

"Alright," Peter agreed. "What do you want me to do?"

"Nothing," Fowler responded. "Nothing that you're not already doing. We investigate from our end, you from yours."

He saw Neal walk up the stairs with a small pile of folders in his hand. Their eyes met. Peter gestured for him to wait in Peter's office. Neal walked inside.

"Are we done here?" he asked. The other two nodded and Peter rose from his chair.

"Just remember that Caffrey is our prime suspect," the man from OPR said when he was by the door.

"He is your prime suspect," Peter objected." Our investigation hasn't—"

"Any suspects at all, right?" Fowler grinned.

"Yet."

Peter left the conference room and dived into his office where Neal was leaning against his desk.

"Any leads?" he asked. The kid nodded and showed him a file.

"This is a short list of suspects capable of pulling this off. The best ones are already incarcerated."

It had a photo of a face Peter knew more than well.

"This guy is dead," Peter sighed.

"Okay. List just got shorter," Neal said, drumming his fingers at the desk while he was thinking. He pulled a file from the pile he had brought to Peter's room.

"Adrian Tulane."

"This is our prime suspect?"

"It's a top-notch forgery. Not many people are capable of this kind of work."

"What about you?" Peter asked and sent the kid a glance.

"If I were legally allowed within 50 feet of the right equipment, maybe," Neal agreed. Seemed innocent alright. But did he not always?

"Tulane's smart," Neal continued. "And a showman. Cameras don't scare him. He has the facilities to pull this off. It's got his signature all over it."

Peter nodded. They had a legit prime suspect, and it was not Neal Caffrey.

"All right. Let's talk to him."

"Any leads?" Peter asked when he came into his office. Neal nodded. He had done his homework and he knew the criminals within his business even if only by rumor. He handed Peter a file with the guy he figured would be most capable of stealing the diamond.

"This is a short list of suspects capable of pulling this off. The best ones are already incarcerated."

"This guy is dead," Peter told him.

Ouch. Pity.

"Okay. List just got shorter," Who was left now? Maybe… Neal had considered the making of the forgery and the theft as two different people. Not that many could do both. And this guy had moved to New York while he was in prison. Neal knew at once that he was on the right track. He handed Peter a second file.

"Adrian Tulane."

"This is our prime suspect?"

"It's a top-notch forgery. Not many people are capable of this kind of work."

"What about you?" Peter asked.

Neal felt his heart beat faster. Not out of worry but because Peter considered it an option that he was capable of a forgery like that. To his knowledge, Peter mostly knew about his art forgeries, though never proven. And the bonds of course.

"If I were legally allowed within 50 feet of the right equipment, maybe. Tulane's smart. And a showman. Cameras don't scare him. He has the facilities to pull this off. It's got his signature all over it."

Peter nodded.

"All right. Let's talk to him."

His handler grabbed his trench-coat, turned and left the office and Neal followed, grabbing his hat when he passed his desk. He put it on with a flick of his hand. Peter rolled his eyes.

"What?"

"I know another showman."

Neal grinned.

They walked to where Tulane was told to live. In the meantime, Neal could not help to spill everything he knew about the guy that he had not seen in Tulane's file as something he was suspected off.

"How much did you do that we don't know about?" Peter asked.

"I don't know. You've never let me read my own files."

"This thief carried a mask. As far as I know, you never did. Which should result in you being easier—"

"Oh, Peter," Neal interrupted. "If it had been that easy, you would have had me on more than those bonds."

"True. But we did catch you on those because you showed your face to the camera."

Neal grinned.

"Hard to cash in bonds in a bank carrying a mask."

"Could you slow down," Peter said. "You're almost running. What's the rush?"

Neal shrugged and slowed down. He was about to meet a guy who's work he had admired since he heard about him for the first time. He had been in prison then. So far, Tulane had only been in the business for less than a year and a half. Neal had to admit to himself that even though it was impressive work, he wanted to keep the record for himself.

Peter knocked on the door to an apartment in a rebuilt factory building. He showed his badge for the brunette, wearing little more than a top, opening the door. She did not say a word but showed them inside and walked ahead of them up the stairs. Peter grabbed his shoulder and made his way past him to be first, as he should be.

"What is with you?" Peter hissed. "You're like a kid on a sugar high."

"You don't understand. Tulane is a legend."

So much in so short time.

"A legend? Don't oversell him."

"It's like you meeting Eliot Ness," Neal tried to explain. He was also a man who did exceptional work in a short time, catching Al Capone.

"Eliot Ne—" Peter began but cut himself short since they reached the top of the stairs and they walked into an apartment with high ceiling and rough brick walls. The old, big factory windows gave the room plenty of light. It did not have a view as Neal's own home, but it was close to as charming.

In the middle of the room stood a group of sofas and on one of them was Adrian Tulane, sitting with his legs crossed, casually dressed. On the floor in front of the sofa was a woman and a gigantic jigsaw puzzle of all white pieces. Neal felt it was a good thing to keep a low profile and let Peter do the talking.

"Doing a puzzle with your girlfriend, huh? That's a nice, wholesome family activity."

Tulane kept his eyes on the puzzle.

"How can I help you, Agent…?"

"Burke, FBI." Peter held up his badge but the man did not bother to look.

"You're Tulane?"

"You know I am."

This time he turned and smashed off a wide grin towards Peter.

"Yeah, I do. I wanna ask you a few questions. You familiar with—?"

"The diamond necklace that was stolen from Joyau Precieux?" Tulane interrupted in a clear effort to take the FBI agent off guard. Neal saw to his delight that his handler did not get his boat rocked that easily.

"Yeah," Peter nodded. "That."

"Whenever something like this happens, I get a visit from someone like you," he grinned and searched for something besides the sofa. "That's why I try to be prepared."

He handed Peter an envelope.

"You'll find plane tickets confirming I arrived in the country this morning."

Peter pulled out the content.

"And you're gonna love the photos from my trip to Madrid last week."

Neal smiled. It was a nice maneuver. Tulane sent him a glance. Did he know who he was? Neal hoped so. But he could not exactly fight this guy for the master forger position while he had Peter around. The man was charming, sure, but he was not a guy Neal liked instantly. He did not believe he himself had had that lofty, disrespectful attitude towards Peter that this man had.

"Anything else?" Tulane asked as if he considered further discussion superfluous.

Peter exchanged a look with Neal, who quickly removed the smile from his face.

"What's that supposed to be?" Peter asked pointing at the totally white puzzle on the floor. "A cloud?"

"No."

Tulane would not elaborate that further.

"I'll be in touch," Peter muttered and turned to leave. He hissed to Neal to stop grinning.

Would Peter just leave it at that? Tulane was as trustworthy as a commercial for skin lotion.

"What? The guy is slick."

"Well, let's hope he's guilty too," Peter returned with a faint smile and continued towards the stairs.

Neal weighted from one foot to another for a second and then walked up to Tulane. He sat down on the backrest of the sofa and whispered:

"Hey, man. Just curious. The Uffizi job, did you…?"

He got a baffled glance in return. Had he succeeded to rock his boat? It was comical.

"Right, right, right," Neal assured him, theatrical. "I love your alleged work. Big fan."

He grinned at Tulane's face, rose and left with Peter.

"Oh, that was a bust," Peter said when they were out on the street. He sounded defeated.

"Why disappointed?" Neal asked. "This is the part you like. Moving the pieces. Solving the puzzle."

He knew Peter well enough. It was not like him to leave the main suspect of a case like this.

"I am moving the pieces," Peter said. "What were you doing the night of the heist?"

So that was what troubled him. That his pet convict was a suspect. Well, Neal had wondered how long it would take Peter to ask.

"Went over some case files."

"That's it? Didn't hang out with anybody? June? The short guy?"

If Peter had to ask it must be something with his anklet or he would know Neal had been in his home all night.

"I don't have an alibi. Look, I get it. Inside job, diamond forgery, OPR's in town. I'm sure I'm at the top of the list."

No reason not to address the elephant in the room. And he also wanted to make Peter trust him. Redirecting and dodging questions had a habit of doing the opposite.

The look he got from Peter made him stop in his tracks. If Tulane's alibi was solid then…

"I am the list, aren't I?"

"Did you do it?"

"Come on, man."

"Did you do it?" Peter insisted.

"I didn't do it. I'm telling you the truth, Peter."

Peter did not seem convinced. Neal had never told him a lie and still, his friend did not trust him when he answered a question with a clear answer. What was he supposed to do to convince Peter? Yes, he was a criminal. Yes, he was a con-man. But the only person in the world that he trusted and whose life he would put before his own was not able to trust him in return.

Disappointed Neal continued to walk feeling Peter's eyes on his back.

"Oh, that was a bust," Peter sighed. Their only suspect except for Neal had an alibi. At least it seemed so.

"Why disappointed?" the kid asked. "This is the part you like. Moving the pieces. Solving the puzzle."

Yeah, sure. Except he did not like where the pieces were moving this time.

"I am moving the pieces. What were you doing the night of the heist?"

"Went over some case files," Neal replied as if there was nothing to worry about at all.

"That's it? Didn't hang out with anybody? June? The short guy?"

Peter found himself wishing that Neal would say he had been at a party with plenty of witnesses.

"I don't have an alibi," the kid told him without fuss. "Look, I get it. Inside job, diamond forgery, OPR's in town. I'm sure I'm at the top of the list."

Peter looked at his consultant. Did he really believe it was that simple? Neal halted.

"I am the list, aren't I?"

The kid appeared to baffled.

"Did you do it?" he asked.

"Come on, man."

"Did you do it?" He needed to know, but what did he expect to get as a reply. A confession? Peter did not miss the hurt look he got. It was something sad and desperate about it.

"I didn't do it. I'm telling you the truth, Peter."

Neal walked away. If he lied, he did it well. He wished he could trust the kid. If he had not done it this was so unfair. But still, he had no alibi and was a known forger. Peter had never brought that up during the interrogation and the trial because they had had too little on it, but they suspected Neal to be the one behind a fake diamond found at a museum. So Neal was probably not aware of how much in trouble he would be if something similar happened near him again.

Peter caught up with him and they continued to walk towards the office.

"Since you even ask," Neal said after a while, "I suppose there is something with my anklet."

"Yeah," Peter admitted. "There's no data for the night of the heist."

"You think I erased it?"

"No, but you could've made someone else do it for you."

Neal did not say a word for the rest of the walk and when they got back to the office he walked straight for his desk and continued to work. Peter sighed. The kid was a convict and now a prime suspect and he was a federal agent. He had to do his job. If Neal was guilty he hoped he would find out before OPR did. He and no one else would bring Neal in. That was the price he paid for this arrangement. And he had made Neal a promise.

He walked to his office and closed the door. He made a phone call and twenty minutes later a clerk came by with the file he had requested. He thumped it.

"Ask Jones to come here, please," he asked the clerk who nodded and left.

Peter trusted himself to be objective but if Neal had not done this heist he wanted it to be obvious, and not something only he had worked with.

There was a quick knock on the door and Jones entered.

"Hey, looking for me?"

"Yeah."

Peter held the file, unsure of if he was about to open Pandora's box or not. He did not want to put Neal in trouble, but if he had stolen that necklace he had to face the consequences. Peter handed Jones the file.

"I need you to look into this."

Jones flipped it open.

"It's forged bonds. Some of Caffrey's old work."

"I need you to look at them under a polarized light for a signature."

"What? Neal's signature?"

"When I arrested Caffrey the second time, told me he signed the bonds. Wanna know if that's true or he's bragging."

Jones nodded.

"Okay."

He turned to leave but changed his mind.

"Is this related to our fake diamond?"

"Let's hope it's not."


	10. Arrested

"I appreciate the irony," Mozzie grinned at him. "We're looking into them and they're looking into you."

Neal sat at his table and looked at the pile of files his friend had under his arm, while he thumped the photo of Kate and the man with the ring. There was also an irony in using the same type of files as the FBI, especially since Mozzie did his best to be far away from authorities. Yet he collected his findings in files.

"Tell me what you got."

"Okay. I checked into Peter's boss, Hughes." Moz placed the first file in front of him. "This guy's a legend. Been with the FBI for 25 years. They were forced to make him retire, found a loophole, brought him back."

"Skeletons?"

"Nada."

Mozzie moved on to the next file.

"And I checked that Agent Ruiz who handles organized crime. Lots of skeletons there, but I don't think he's smart enough."

No, probably not, Neal thought.

"Checked Jones." A third file landed in front of him. "Did you know his first name is Clinton?"

Yes, he had seen his colleague's business card. A fourth file.

"Checked into Lauren."

"You checked Lauren?"

"You said 'check everybody.'"

He had said that. But seriously? He could not see Lauren using Kate. Kate would eat her alive. And she did not have access to his tracking data either.

"Then there's this guy from OPR." And this time Mozzie sat down. He had saved the best for last. "Fowler." The fifth folder was opened and Neal recognized the face from the man in the conference room.

"What about him?"

"Used to work Violent Crimes for the Bureau. Wife was killed during a robbery and he took a year leave. Then he joined OPR and his files were sealed."

"Sealed? Interesting. He showed up fast after this went down."

"Have a ring?"

"No. No ring."

"Tan line?"

"No. That doesn't mean it's not him."

"I hope not," Moz sighed. "OPR is like this giant sucking black hole. Accountable only to the DOJ."

"Department of Justice?"

"Well, the DOJ is just a euphemism of course, for the military industrial complex."

"And big oil, right?" His friend's ideas about conspiracies always amazed Neal.

"Goes without saying."

Neal studied the file on Fowler.

"Um… By the way," Mozzie said, "That necklace…"

Neal sighed.

"Yeah?"

"Did you… ?"

"I didn't take it."

He saw on his face that his friend did not believe him.

"If you need a fence—"

"Moz."

"Oh, okay. Okay, got it. I get it."

There was a sigh from Moz as if he had hoped Neal had taken it. He ignored the friend's reaction but it did not take long before he popped another question:

"Why didn't you?"

"Moz!"

"Just asking."

"I haven't found Kate yet. I can't risk going back until I know she's safe."

No need to even try to explain the more complex reasons, like he was not sure if he ever wanted to continue where he left of. He liked Peter and his work. Right now he did not want to risk it. But Mozzie who had been who he was all his life, living outside all grids and laws, did not understand that. Until Neal was clear with his own feelings and goals with his life he did not want to discuss it with Mozzie. A simple explanation had to do.

"We have nothing that ties Tulane to the theft," Peter told Hughes and Neal in the conference room. "No fingerprints, nothing from the cameras. And he has an alibi that so far is waterproof."

Neal sat down in a chair and spun it slowly.

Peter was frustrated. He pulled off his jacket to cool. With OPR breathing down his neck with Neal as their prime suspect it would have been good to have something to show in return. Tulane's photos might very well be fakes, but the ticket had held. If they could prove he was not on the plane they had something legit.

"If we can't figure how he stole it, we can try grab him when he fences it," Neal suggested.

Peter stopped his pacing and looked at his presumed prime suspect.

"It's a unique piece. It's too hot for the market right now."

"Brunei is an interesting angle because the market—" The kid said more but Peter was distracted when Jones came in.

"OPR is here," he whispered into his ear. "Seems too happy."

Jones had barely time to finish before Fowler walked right into the conference room.

"Neal Caffrey. You're under arrest."

"What?" The kid stared at the man.

Peter closed his eyes. Had the kid done it after all? Please tell me what they have is nothing, Peter prayed to powers he had a hard time believing in.

Hughes had risen and had no time to say anything until Fowler placed a file on the table in front of the senior agent.

"We found that the signature NC microprinted on the fake diamond. It matches the signature on the counterfeit bonds he made. See?"

Peter looked at Neal. A signature? The kid leaned over to see for himself. Was he surprised they had found it, or surprised it was there?

"That's good work, Agent Burke."

What?

"Let's go," Fowler said but Peter came to his senses. Neal would not leave with this man.

"Stop."

He saw the glimmer of hope in Neal's eyes but this was a hook he could not take him off that easy.

"He's my responsibility." He pulled his cuffs from his pocket.

"Peter—" the kid was about to object but it was of no use. It was Peter's way or Fowler's way.

"Neal…"

He took the kid by his wrist and guided him to his feet. Neal did not resist.

"You have the right to remain silent," Peter said as he opened his cuffs. His pet convict stood there, calm, in a suit, and held out his hands to him. He met the kid's eyes.

"I didn't do this," Neal said to him, almost in a whisper.

Maybe. Maybe not. This was not the time and place to discuss it.

"Remain silent. Please."

Neal fell silent but kept looking at him as Peter locked the cuffs around his wrists. Was there blame in those eyes? Or was it a pleading for help?

"All right, let's go," Fowler said when the kid was restrained.

Neal may be under arrest but he was not about to parade him through the office or let OPR do it either. He had made Neal a promise and he was about to keep it. He knew the kid well enough to know his body language and eyes screamed that Neal was scared. He took his jacket and arranged it over the cuffs, covering them. When he grabbed Neal's arm he tried to send him an assuring look that Peter would take him and that Fowler could go to Hell.

Neal sat down in the chair opposite Hughes as Peter hung his jacket over the back of a chair and paced in the room.

He spun around in his chair, thinking. He was also waiting for Peter to ask him if he did it, again. None of the agents did. He considered it a good sign.

"If we can't figure how he stole it, we can try grab him when he fences it," he suggested.

Peter stopped.

"It's a unique piece," he said. "It's too hot for the market right now."

Well, there were other places than New York City or even the States where you could sell it.

"Brunei is an interesting angle because the market there is less rigid," he told the two agents. Then Jones came into the room and whispered something in Peter's ear. Though Neal was curious it was nothing he could bother himself with now.

"Language barrier can be a challenge though," he continued and send Hughes a smile, "because one time—"

"Neal Caffrey," a voice said. He turned towards the door and saw the OPR man Fowler walk in.

"You're under arrest."

"What?" Was it a joke? They could not have anything on him. He did not do it. If they could not bring in Tulane, they could not do it to him either.

Fowler dropped a folder in front of the senior agent who had risen from his chair at the intrusion.

"We found that the signature NC microprinted on the fake diamond. It matches the signature on the counterfeit bonds he made."

Neal leaned forward. There was an image of his signature on the bonds alright, that he had told Peter of. And an image of the diamond with the same signature. He had been set up.

"See?" Fowler asked and turned to Peter: "That's good work, Agent Burke."

What? Was Peter part of this? For a second he felt sheeted but Peter did not look as if he had any clue.

"Let's go," Fowler said but Peter held out his hand.

"Stop."

Neal smiled. Peter would know he did not do this.

"He's my responsibility," his handler said and Neal was flabbergasted.

"Peter—"

"Neal…"

His friend's hand closed around his wrist and he was gently pulled to his feet. Not that he resisted. What good would that do? He was inside the FBI's headquarters.

"You have the right to remain silent," Peter began as he opened his cuffs.

Neal held out his hands and searched eye contact and got it.

"I didn't do this," he told him in a low voice.

"Remain silent. Please."

What did he have to say if Peter did not believe him? He did as he was told and fell silent. Peter locked the cuffs around his wrists.

"All right, let's go," Fowler said.

Neal felt a rising terror. Would he leave with the man from OPR? Peter had promised him to take him in, but this was not his call. He was standing in cuffs in the White Collar's office, among his colleagues. This man Fowler would not hesitate to call the marshals and have them transport him to prison in leg-irons and belly chain. He would probably join the ride just see him humiliated.

Peter pulled his suit jacket off the chair and draped it over Neal's cuffs, hiding them. Everyone would know anyway, but still, it was a gesture of kindness that was so typical Peter. To his relief, it was his handler who grabbed his arm and led him away. He sent an evil glare at Fowler and remembered what Moz told him about a sealed file.

The second they were out of the conference room Peter let go of him. Neal walked along with him anyway. Peter did not want to humiliate him, and Neal, well, he wanted to leave with his head high, and show Peter and everyone else that he did so. He would have even if he had done this crime.

They went down the elevator all three of them in silence. Peter took his jacket back and put it on. Neal wanted to say thank you but kept his mouth since Fowler was still around. He made sure he kept is head high and his features under control. He would not give Fowler the pleasure of seeing him weak. But that was how he felt.

He kept on the straight and narrow and still he got arrested. It was so easy to put blame on him, the pet convict, the con man. Who would believe him if he said he was innocent. What did Peter believe? His handler had not sought eye-contact. He had treated him with respect but that did not tell what he thought of Neal's guilt.

When they stepped out of the elevator in the garage, Neal felt all color disappearing from his face. Peter must have noted him sway because he turned to him and then followed Neal's stare.

The marshals were waiting. Four men. And one of them had a set of chains. He hated what was about to happen. Hated to lose his dignity in front of Fowler. Hated to be treated as a high-risk felon. Still, he did not resist as Peter took him further into the garage.

"Stop," Peter said at once when the marshals approached. "You don't need those."

"Sir, Neal Caffrey is an inmate of a high-security facility and this is standard procedure," one of the marshal's said. "We have to restrain him."

"No, you don't. I am taking him back to prison. Myself."

Neal relaxed at once. Peter guided him towards one of the FBI cars, away from the Marshal's minibus.

"Sir! Neal Caffrey is our responsibility!"

"No. He's not. He' mine."

"Not when he's charged with a crime, he's not."

Peter did not seem to listen. No matter if Peter would win or not, Neal would love him forever for this.

Fowler placed himself in front of Peter.

"Agent Burke, don't be foolish."

"Like I'm the fool here," Peter said and pushed Fowler aside.

"We both know those cuffs are no restraints for him. If he escapes it's all on you."

"Fine," Peter agreed and opened the door to the backseat and made a gesture with his head for Neal to enter. He did so, after sending a wide grin to Fowler. When he felt Peter's hand on his head to keep him from banging it in the door frame he heard Fowler say:

"So you got him well trained, your pet. Do you really think it will keep him from escaping?"

"We'll see," Peter replied and closed the door. He rounded the car and entered the driver's seat.

They exchanged a look in the rear-view mirror. Neal thought he saw a hint of doubt in those eyes. Fowler had been provocative but Neal did not take that bait.

"I won't run, Peter."

"I know."

His handler started the car and he drove past Fowler and the marshals and up the ramp out on the streets of New York City.

"Thank you." He searched and found Peter's eyes in the mirror for a second before Peter's eyes returned to the street. He did not get any reply and did not expect any. He was a suspect again and there were rules and regulations about how to treat them. Neither was he a first-time offender. Peter had already done more than expected of him.

Now it was time to find out who framed him and why.

"Get yourself a lawyer, Neal," Peter said from the front seat.

Yeah, it was time for that.


	11. To buy a bakery

Peter felt like a wreck when he came home. He stopped inside the doors and looked around. He had lost his partner and when he passed the doors to his home it hit him like a fist in the guts that he had also lost a friend. No matter how much he liked Neal, the kid was now locked up in prison. He and Neal would never work together again.

"What is it?" El asked.

His eyes focused on his dear wife.

"I had to put Neal back in prison today."

She did not say a word. She just hugged him. It was exactly what he needed.

They sat down by the dinner table and ate while he told her everything that had happened the last days.

"Those initials on the diamond…" Peter sighed. "They vex me."

"Someone could've set him up," El suggested. "Make it look like it was Neal."

"Yeah…" Peter nodded. "But who and why? If it hadn't been for those initials, all we had on Neal was lost tracking data and nothing on anybody else. If somebody else did it… we've no clue who it might be. No need to frame Caffrey. And, not to forget, Neal Caffrey is a con-man. He could've tried to frame Tulane and failed."

Elisabeth nodded, but there was something thoughtful about her.

"What?" Peter asked. "You don't think he stole the diamond?"

"Of all you've told me about Neal when you chased him, I very well believe he could've stolen it. But not like that. And not trying to frame someone for it."

Peter was not sure what to believe any longer.

"Maybe he was set up. For reasons I don't understand. And maybe Neal Caffrey isn't the man I thought he was and he conned me."

That was what he feared most: that he had misjudged the kid, that he was used and conned. Neal had seemed too baffled when Fowler came in to arrest him, pleaded to Peter, telling him he did not do it. Peter did not want that plea to be a lie. He wanted Neal to be the man he thought he knew, the friend and the partner that he had been working with for months now. The person he thought he knew.

He could not deny that the same man could tell lies without blinking and make them sound like solid truth. Maybe Caffrey had done the same with him.

Next morning he drove straight to prison to see Neal. It was perhaps not the most proper thing to do, considering the ongoing investigation, but he needed to face the kid, see if he could catch him lying. Or see if there was hope for the kid to be innocent of the theft.

He paced in the visitor's room, waiting for Neal to arrive. It was the same room where they had met twice already. The kid sent him a happy smile when he entered. After the pat-down he swung himself down on the bench, smiling.

"Hello, Peter! What brings you here?"

Was there hope in the kid's voice? Was he pale? Scared? Peter pushed all those thoughts aside. This was a criminal and he had put far too much trust in him already. Peter sat down opposite, not looking at the charmer. Was this how it would end? A last meeting, in a visitor's room in prison.

"You let me down, Neal."

He saw the kid's pose straighten at one.

" _I_ let _you_ down?" the con-man returned with a harshness that surprised Peter. "You told Fowler to look for my initials."

Peter had not. But he did not like the tone of accusation in the kid's voice. He was not the one in prison. His eyes met Neal's.

"And you told me to look at your bonds under a polarized light, remember? Well, guess what? I did. And, yeah, you signed them."

"Think I'd be stupid enough to do that again?"

"I guess you were," Peter shot back. The kid's face and pose shifted ever so slightly. What Peter had thought of as Neal's vulnerable side could now be seen in those eyes, like Peter's mistrust had hurt him.

"The thief is associated with law enforcement," Peter reminded Neal, not listening to the inner voice that told him to comfort the kid and give him hope. "Your anklet was tampered with. You have no alibi. And your initials are on that diamond. What am I supposed to think?"

"I was set up!"

"By who?"

There was a slight pause but Neal did not sway with his eyes from his.

"I'm working on that." It sounded as an assurance, not as something to say to hide that you have no idea. Still, it was nothing.

Peter sighed. He wanted to give the kid a hug and take him out of prison, to go working with him. Neal Caffrey, the criminal and con-man was the best thing that ever happened to his professional life.

"You're not helping things." And there was nothing Peter could do to help him either.

"Agent Burke?" A guard approached.

"What?"

"His lawyer's here."

Behind the guard came Neal's short, bald friend. Unbelievable. He turned to Neal.

"He's a lawyer?"

"Check my University of Phoenix degree. Go, Cardinals."

Either the little man was nervous or a bad liar. Knowing the that Arizona Cardinals' home arena was the University of Phoenix Stadium did not exactly add to the believability. But it was not his call. He would have checked that degree if he knew what name to look for.

"Now if you don't mind, I'd like to speak to my client. Alone."

Peter sent Neal a glance, grabbed his trench-coat and rose without a word.

"I didn't let you down," Neal said suddenly.

Peter turned and met the young man's honest, blue eyes. Why had he said that? Neal's eyes swayed. Was he dishonest or just embarrassed? Whatever it was, this was out of Peter's hands. He had to let it go. And he could not reply without taking a legal risk. He left and felt more frustrated now than when he arrived. Just as he had when he had visited Neal after his prison-break. He had that habit, the kid, making him frustrated.

Neal was fetched from his cell by Bobby. When he saw Peter wait for him he smiled. It must be a good sign that he turned up. Bobby handed him over to the guard in the visitor's room who did his pat-down on him before he let Neal through. Peter looked troubled so Neal sent him a reassuring grin as he sat down.

"Hello, Peter! What brings you here?"

His handler and partner did not look overly pleased. He sat down but did not say anything for a moment and when he did, it was not what Neal had expected at all.

"You let me down, Neal."

He stared at Peter. Did the agent think that he had any guilt in this?

" _I_ let _you_ down? You told Fowler to look for my initials."

Fowler had said that Peter had done a good work and Peter was the only one he had told about the initials. Peter was the only one who could have told anyone else to look for them on the diamond. And Peter did not object.

"And you told me to look at your bonds under a polarized light, remember? Well, guess what? I did. And, yeah, you signed them!"

Yes, he was vain and he had signed those bonds, but it had been too bold.

"Think I'd be stupid enough to do that again?"

"I guess you were!" Peter's voice was like acid, dripping of contempt.

Neal fought to keep his face under control. Yes, Peter was an FBI agent and he was a criminal, but they were friends. Or at least that was what he had thought. Because friends did not think of you as stupid and presumed you were guilty. So much for working on getting Peter to trust him.

"The thief is associated with law enforcement," Peter reminded him. "Your anklet was tampered with. You have no alibi. And your initials are on that diamond. What am I supposed to think?"

"I was set up!"

"By who?"

It was not a real question or interest. It was a mocking question because Peter did not believe him.

"I'm working on that," he assured Peter though he knew he would get no aid from him.

"You're not helping things." Well, at least I'm trying to find the guilty one, while you are settled with blaming me, Neal was about to say when the visitor's guard walked up to their table.

"Agent Burke?"

"What?"

"His lawyer's here."

Neal had to fight a smile as he saw Mozzie enter the room. His friend had indeed managed to walk into a prison to come to his aid.

"He's a lawyer?" Peter asked him but Moz answered.

"Check my University of Phoenix degree. Go, Cardinals," he added with a smile. "Now if you don't mind, I'd like to speak to my client. Alone."

Peter sent Neal a glance, grabbed his trench-coat and rose without a word but with a look of disappointment.

"I didn't let you down," Neal said suddenly. He wanted Peter to know. He did not want it to end like this. The glare he got made him understand it was a stupid idea. Why would Peter believe him now when he did not trust anything else he had said. Peter left. Mozzie sat down on his place.

"All right. Any problems?" Neal wanted to know.

"None," Moz grinned all over his face. "This was genius. I don't know why we didn't think of this earlier."

He placed his briefcase on the table and opened it as he spoke.

"The judge actually raised his voice to the prosecutor. 'Open discovery. Turn over every document the government has on Caffrey.' They're sending a truck."

"Did you follow Fowler?"

"Yup. Once the request went through, he made a pit stop at a local Dumpster. He shredded these." He pushed a transparent plastic bag across the table with shredded paper inside. Neal gripped the bag as he saw his future rescue inside.

"Perfect. Thank you, Moz. This is perfect."

He wanted to spill the contents and start right away but it had to wait.

"Information on the judge?"

"Mm-hm," Mozzie nodded as he handed him a file from his briefcase.

Neal flipped it open and scanned through the text.

"He's got a private office connected to the federal building on Mott Street." Mott Street? His mind raced as he panned his internal map of New York. Mott Street, federal building. Yes! He knew exactly what to do.

"Moz, I need you to liquidate some assets. I need money."

"Why?"

"I want you to buy a bakery."

Peter came back to the office and walked up the stairs to the bullpen and his office when Fowler stepped out of the conference room.

"Agent Burke."

He just wanted the man and his crew to leave. Why did he still hang around?

"Yeah?"

"An excellent job yesterday. Appreciate the cooperation."

Cooperation? That he had put the cuffs on Caffrey and taken him to prison? Was it just out of polite gesture that he left their argument in the garage out?

"You know, Caffrey was a great asset. He did good work for us."

"Yeah, maybe. But don't forget he's a criminal," Fowler said as if that demolished the previous months of work. "Good job."

Fowler returned to his crew in the conference room. People like this man from OPR would always think that criminals always remained as criminals. It was people like him who made every murderer a monster, no matter reason or background for the crime. He sighed and moved on to his office.

Hughes caught him by the door.

"We have a problem," the senior agent mumbled. "Caffrey's lawyer just requested every file the bureau has on him. The judge ordered us to comply."

Peter knew who the lawyer was and he had to keep from grinning all over his face at the stroke of genius those to guys made when they planned something. Finally, Neal would learn what the FBI had on him. He turned and watched Fowler who felt the stare and looked back. And Neal would also learn what Peter could not access: what the OPR had on Caffrey.

"I've already sent a bunch of people to make copies of everything. Just thought you should know."

"Thanks."

He walked into his office and sat down by his desk. He watched the empty chair on the other side and let his eyes wander to the empty desk out in the office. He would let it remain there until the trial was over and Neal behind bars again. Yes, he still had hopes to have the kid back. Would it been different if he had found the signature on the diamond? Would he have let Neal slip through the net and looked the other way? No. No, he would not. But he would have been sure it was him through his own investigation, not by somebody else's. He would have confronted Neal and cuffed him in private. It did not feel for real when someone else marched in and shoved proof under his nose.

And why had Neal said it was synthetic if he stole the real one? The question nagged him. Was it not more likely to say it was authentic? But then, there was no theft and nothing to brag with? Neal was vain and probably thought of it as more fun this way.

He pushed the thoughts away and called for Jones and Lauren.

"Check everything on Tulane again, double-check his alibi. Again."

The two agents nodded.

"And Neal's got a lawyer. Keep an eye on him, as much as you legally can. I'm pretty sure he's planning something."

"The lawyer?" Lauren asked.

"Yeah, with Neal."

"What would they be planning besides Caffrey's defense?" Jones asked.

"I don't know," Peter admitted but he was sure those two was up to something. Especially since they asked for all Neal's files.

"You know the lawyer's name?" Jones pulled out a pen and a pad from his pocket.

"No." It sure wasn't 'Mozzie'.

The next day Peter brought a sandwich and a coffee as lunch and ate at his desk. As little as possible that reminded him of Neal's vacant spot in his life as possible. When he was done he took the rest of his coffee with him and walked down to Jones and Lauren.

"So all Tulane's information checks out," Lauren said. "He's eerily clean."

"Of course he is," Peter sighed. Too clean, but that did not give them anything to go on. "What's Neal's lawyer been up to?"

"Not much," Jones replied. "Legally, we can't follow him. Attorney-client privileges."

"Yeah, yeah." Peter sank down in a chair. "So we have no idea what he's doing?"

"Well, we do know he made a large real estate purchase in Neal's name," Lauren smiled and handed him a file.

"What?" A real estate? Now? Peter stared at the lease. "He bought a bakery?"

"That's what it looks like," Jones smiled.

"Why buy a bakery?" Peter read the paper in his hand again. Nothing Neal had ever done before had made him as baffled as he felt now.

"We don't even know where the thing is located. We have a lease with a redacted address."

"Attorney-client privileges," Peter sighed.

"Covers a lot of sins, that one," Lauren said.

"A bakery?" Peter repeated, utterly puzzled.


	12. Free fall

When he was back in his cell Neal got his back with paper strips. He asked for a notepad and a glue stick and got it. He sat down by the minimal desk and looked at the pile of unsorted strips, all looking the same. It felt hopeless before he even started. But his chance to stay out of prison was in those strips. And it was not like he had anything else to do until the trial.

He was only allowed to leave the cell for an hour every day. It was not like solitary, he still had an ordinary cell with a full view out to the corridor through bars. But the warden was not sure if it was safe for Neal to be out among the others since he had aided the FBI and a few of those he had caught was in there. Neal figured it would fall back on the warden if he appeared in court with bruises. So for the time being Neal was confined to his cell.

He grabbed two strips. They did not match. He changed one and continued until he found a match. Soon he could pick out those to the left of the paper because of OPR's logo in the top corner. The headline was also the same on every sheet.

As he matched strips he glued them onto the papers in the pad.

And the more he glued, the more intrigued he got. As well as worried. This was more than someone setting him up to not get the blame. But he did not quite get what and why. Yet. But Peter Burke was involved. As a target.

Two days after Mozzie's and Peter's visits it was time to go to trial. He had talked to Mozzie on the phone and the friend had turned out to be an excellent lawyer. Now he met up in the visitor's room again with the suit Neal had asked for. He changed his orange jumpsuit to something more comfortable and in better colors.

"Bakery?" he asked Mozzie and he adjusted his tie and watched himself in the little mirror Moz held.

"Done."

"Construction?"

"Finished."

"How's air conditioning in the judge's office?"

"Hm, broke down this morning," Mozzie said and did not reveal with a muscle that he knew exactly why.

Neal grinned.

"All right. Let's go to court."

He told the visitor's guard that he was ready and two marshals appeared with a set of chains for the transportation. He saw Mozzie shiver and sweat at the sight of them.

"Take it easy, Moz. They're not for you."

"I am aware of that. But they still represent a symbol of humiliation and oppression, even without someone actually wearing them."

Neal held out his arms and let the marshals to a pat-down on him. It was of no use to say that they already searched every inch of the suit when Mozzie brought it in.

"Can you take the chain inside of the jacket, please?" he said in his most honest voice. "I don't want to wrinkle the suit."

To the marshals' credit, they listened. They did not pull the cuffs tighter than necessary either. They even checked with him that nothing was too tight. He swallowed his jokes and smiled friendly and thanked them for asking. Humble and docile he had learned was a functional approach to guards as well as marshals.

They took him to the waiting van in the sally port. Mozzie, as his lawyer, joined them on the ride into New York City.

"Remember that we're not going to the courthouse but to Judge Hickman's office," Mozzie said.

"I know, sir," the driver replied.

"Good. I keep an eye on you, you know."

The driver gave him a look in the mirror.

"Moz… Relax."

"Is it his first case?" one of the escorts asked Neal.

"Just because I suffer from claustrophobia it doesn't make it my first case, young man," Mozzie snapped back. "I also suffer from motion sickness. Do you have a paper bag?"

Neal smiled.

"It is his first case," he told the escort.

"Neal!" Moz protested.

The marshal sighed.

"Well, good luck."

Neal had through his lawyer let the court know that he was about to confess but that he would name people involved that were important people, people publicly known, and that he would prefer to do so for the judge only at this stage. It was nothing strange about that and there were no legal grounds to stop it. Neal Caffrey was known to be non-violent, the judge's office was considered secure up on the fourth floor.

Neal was taken there by the marshals, his chains were removed and the judge gestured for him to take a seat across the table. Everybody except for him and the judge began to leave the room.

"Bailiff, would you open the window?" Judge Hickman called out and the bailiff walked to the window. "Oh, the heat is stifling in here. Unfortunately, the air conditioning is not working today."

Yes, the room was hot alright and the open window did miracles.

"Thank you. Please, wait outside," he told the bailiff and then turned to Neal. "Per your request, Mr. Caffrey the chambers have been cleared."

"Thank you."

"In accordance with that agreement, you're prepared to give a full confession?"

"I am, Your Honor. I'll admit I've done a lot of things in my life I'm not proud of," Neal began. It sounded good, but… He paused. "No. No, that's not true. I'm proud of most of them. But what I'm about to do today, this is gonna be good."

He beamed to the warm and sweaty judge across the desk.

"I confess I did not steal the diamond necklace from Le Joyau Precieux."

The judge frowned.

"I cleared these chambers because you claimed to have sensitive information vital to this case. If you didn't steal the diamond, then who did?"

"I'll let you know."

He winked at the judge and rose from the comfortable armchair.

Peter walked down on Mott Street to the federal building there.

"Judge Hickman's office?" he asked an official outside.

"Fourth floor."

"Thank you."

Something was not right. Neal had never confessed to anything. Why do it now? And why make sure that the arraignment was moved? Peter stopped dead and stared at the orange awning in front of him at the ground floor of the office building he was about to enter. It was a bakery: The Greatest Cake. And the sign said 'Grand Opening'.

"Bakery. The son of a bitch bought that bakery," he mumbled.

He had not time to think why, before he heard a distant call for a bailiff and he looked up from where the voice came from. Then he saw a man climb out a window on the fourth floor, stand on the ledge and jump. He knew instantly that it was Neal. The man landed on the awning, which was supported in every end as if prepared for the very purpose, which it without a doubt was. He swung down on the sidewalk and they faced each other.

If they had been closer, Peter would probably have reached out to grab him, but as it were they were too far apart and Peter too stunned to say or do anything.

Neal smiled and shrugged apologetically as if to say 'sorry, I can't stay', then turned and ran with long, vigorous steps across the street where he jumped into a maroon van which stood with its side door open, waiting for him.

The official Peter had asked for directions ran passed him and called into the radio that somebody jumped out and into a van.

The door closed and the van took off.

"He's not in the van," Peter said to himself. He realized he was smiling.

Then he saw the bakery's name on the awning again. The Greatest Cake... The Great Escape. He grinned even more.

Peter stood on the spot where the van had been parked. There was a manhole right there. The lid was on, but Peter was confident Neal was down there somewhere. Jones was the first to turn up.

"Get to the city planner's office," he told him. "Find out where these tunnels lead."

Jones nodded and left.

"Burke!"

He turned and saw Fowler and Hughes exit a car and walk toward him.

"Caffrey escaped?" Hughes asked, baffled.

"Yeah," Peter nodded. "He did a four-story swan dive onto that awning of the bakery." He gestured towards it.

"Who approved moving the arraignment?" Peter was more than irritated.

"Marshals guaranteed the security," Fowler said.

"Never assume anything with Neal. Been working my ass keeping this kid on the straight and narrow. He's been helping us win cases. Until you came along."

Neal may not be innocent as he claimed, but without OPR he would not have the kid on the run at least. Now he might face lifetime instead of some years added due to the theft.

"Don't put this on me—" Fowler began but Peter interrupted not interested in what this clown might have to say. It did not take many seconds of immature argumentation before Hughes stepped in between them.

"Hey, hey, gentlemen. Hey, let's focus on the problem here. What do we know?"

Peter saw Lauren hurrying towards them.

"We stopped the van?" he asked.

"The only person in the van was the driver. He claims he was hired through an Internet posting. Five hundred bucks to pick up the van, park at this spot."

"Van has floor panel that was removable?"

"How did you know?"

"Caffrey wasn't in there for more than a few seconds." He turned to Hughes and Fowler. "He's gone underground."

"Can we track his anklet?" Lauren asked.

"They removed it." He sent Fowler a glare. "When we arrested him."

"Okay," Hughes sighed. "Burke, find him. Again."

"I'm not comfortable with Agent Burke running this op—"

"I don't care whether you're comfortable or not," Hughes bit back. "Burke knows Caffrey better than anyone. Now get to work."

He and Lauren left and Peter glanced at Fowler who turned back to him.

"All right, Burke. What's your plan?"

He did indeed an effort to cooperate. But Peter did not want him near Neal again. If the kid would have any chance Peter had to find him, and do so before anybody else.

"Set up roadblocks," he told Fowler. "Put up wanted posters."

That would keep him busy and out of the way. He had to fight to keep a straight face though. Roadblocks and wanted posters had never been a problem for Neal Caffrey.

Neal was once again glad for his excellent memory. He had changed clothes and now it was time for the next phase of his plan. He placed a quarter in the payphone and buttoned a number he would not have had if had not been for Elizabeth's phone ringing once when Neal was over and he saw the display.

"This is Yvonne," a voice answered.

"Can I speak to Elizabeth Burke, please?"

A baffled silence and some mumbling, 'It's for you.', 'On your personal phone?'

"Burke Premiere Events. This is Elizabeth."

"Sorry to bother you at work," he began.

"Neal?" He heard her call out to the others that she would catch up with them. "How did you get this number? Stupid question. Half of the law enforcement in North America's looking for you, including my husband."

"He'll find me soon enough. I need your help."

"Neal, I—"

"Please, hear me out first? Please?"

There was silence in the other end, but she had not hung up.

"Okay, I'm listening."


	13. Milk and Cookies

Peter came home late. He dumped his briefcase on the sofa. El came out of the kitchen.

"Hey," he said, too frustrated with the whole situation to stand still. He walked to the window towards the street.

"You okay?" she asked.

"Still haven't found Neal. We got a detail outside."

"Yeah, I saw."

"As if he'd be careless enough to come here."

As he had said those words his eyes fell on one of the dining room chairs. It was pulled out as if someone had been sitting there. He looked at El, who avoided his look, which was not like her. His eyes wandered to the frosted glass of the kitchen door. Someone was moving on the other side. He placed his hands on his hips and glared at his wife. What had she done?!

"Where do you think he did go, El?" he asked. She just moved uncomfortably. "Is he in the kitchen?"

She nodded. This day just turned worse. Instead of one problem he just got two, and his own wife was one of them.

"Neal!" he said in a commanding whisper, to keep the detail outside calm.

The door slid open at once and the kid appeared with his hands raised.

"Peter…"

He gestured for him to come out from the kitchen and the kid hurried out and placed himself behind the thick bookshelf to stay out of sight from the window and the policemen outside.

"All the places you could run, you go to my wife?"

"Saying it like it's a bad thing."

Peter turned to his wife.

"You helped him sneak in?"

"Wouldn't have had to if there weren't people sitting at our house."

"You lied to the FBI."

"Honey, I did not lie to the FBI. There was just a lot of milk and cookies and pleasant distracting conversation while Neal slipped around back."

"I love this. You've turned my wife into an accomplice." He had wanted to find Neal first to keep the kid as safe as possible. Now he had to fight the urge to smack him in the face for bringing his beloved El into the mess as well.

"Give me one minute to explain," Neal asked.

He looked at Elizabeth. She held up a finger and mimicked 'one minute' with the pleading look that always gave her what she wanted. She gave him a kiss and disappeared into the kitchen.

Peter remained with his hands on his hips, pushing the irrational thinking away. Neal was there and he was not about to run anywhere.

"One minute," he granted. He walked to the bookshelf and pulled out a book at random. "Explain what you were thinking when you did a free fall from the judge's chambers. While I decide if I drag you back in chains."

"Does that minute start now?"

"Go."

"Okay. I told you I was set up by someone very close to you. Couldn't tell because I thought it was somebody in the FBI. Now I'm positive it's Fowler."

"Fowler? That's not—"

"I've got 52 seconds left," Neal interrupted him. "Had a little free time on my hands the past few days. So I've been putting these together."

The kid pulled some papers out of the pocket of his jacket and unfolded them over Peter's book.

"They're documents Fowler shredded after I requested access to my files."

For a brief second, Peter wondered how Neal got access to OPR's shredded papers and how he knew Fowler had done it but then he saw what it was. It was a transcript of a conversation over the telephone.

'Morning, Peter.'

'Where are you?'

'Within my 2-mile radius. Where are you?'

'I'm at my dining room table. Listen, we've got a suspected jewelry heist.'

'I'm intrigued.'

'Meet me at 14th and 9th in thirty.'

'That's Le Joyau Precieux. I'm even more intrigued.'

'The most expensive boutique in the city, of course, you'd know it. You're gonna love this.'

Not only was this a call between himself and Neal it was also…

"I made that call from my home," Peter said, and could not believe what he read.

"Yep."

"My God, they tapped my phone."

"They didn't tap it. That would require a court order. Look at your phone."

Peter saw his house phone on the table, opened, split it two, exposing the electronics inside. But there was more inside than what was supposed to be there.

"It's a bug," Neal said. "Standard bureau issue. Activates when you pick it up."

"They've been inside my house." The realization hit Peter as hard as he had wanted to slap Neal just less than a minute ago.

His eyes darted around the room as if any other bugs might be visible for the naked eye. He had felt his home invaded before, like when Neal came by on the second day they worked together, and when El's friend Dana Mitchell moved in when her husband was a suspect. But this was different. This was an invasion on another level completely. Someone had been inside his house without him and Elizabeth knowing about it.

He noted Neal's silence and his eyes watching him. It was Neal who was a suspect, not him. There was no reason to bug his house, officially.

"They couldn't have had authorization," Peter said. "Not within the window of the crime and his suspicion of you."

"Exactly. Fowler is dirty," Neal insisted. "Peter, I have access to every file the FBI has on me. You had Jones process a request to look at my initials on the bond forgery. After you checked, to see if I was telling the truth, one other person checked it too."

"Fowler." It began to make sense.

"Then my initials just happened to show up on the pink diamond," Neal continued. "He's using you to get to me."

But why?

"My minute's up," Neal said. He remained where he was, waiting for Peter's next move.

Elizabeth stared at the phone Neal split open.

"Then you're innocent, Neal," she said.

Yeah, he nodded. But would Peter listen? He rose.

"Can I get a glass of water?"

"Of course." She followed him into the kitchen.

They heard the front door open and El gestured for him to stay where he was while she returned to the living-room. Neal heard them say their hellos.

"Still haven't found Neal. We got a detail outside," his handler said.

"Yeah, I saw."

"As if he'd be careless enough to come here."

Then there was a silence. The silence of a discovery. Had Neal left something in the room?

"Where do you think he did go, El?" he heard Peter ask. "Is he in the kitchen?"

Silence again.

"Neal!" He sounded angry, but he did not burst out to the kitchen either. Neal pushed the door ajar and showed himself.

"Peter…"

The agent gestured for him to come out from the kitchen and Neal hurried out took cover beside the pillar-like bookshelf so there would not be three silhouettes in the room from outside.

"All the places you could run, you go to my wife?!"

Did it not say something about his honest intentions?

"Saying it like it's a bad thing."

Peter was angry alright, but not just with him.

"You helped him sneak in?" he hissed to his wife.

"Wouldn't have had to if there weren't people sitting at our house."

"You lied to the FBI."

"Honey, I did not lie to the FBI. There was just a lot of milk and cookies and pleasant distracting conversation while Neal slipped around back."

"I love this. You've turned my wife into an accomplice."

Neal had calculated that Peter would be angry with him and not give him a chance to say something. He had not thought about the option that he would get angry with his wife. It was not like she would go to jail for this.

"Give me one minute to explain."

Elizabeth supported him when she held up a finger and mimicked 'one minute'. She gave her husband a kiss, gave him an encouraging nod and left the room.

Peter remained with his hands on his hips, angry.

"One minute," he granted. "Explain what you were thinking when you did a free fall from the judge's chambers." He moved closer to the bookshelf and him and pulled out a book. "While I decide if I drag you back in chains."

"Does that minute start now?"

"Go."

"Okay. I told you I was set up by someone very close to you. Couldn't tell because I thought it was somebody in the FBI. Now I'm positive it's Fowler."

Peter shook his head.

"Fowler? That's not—"

Of course, he would protest.

"I've got 52 seconds left," Neal reminded him. "Had a little free time on my hands the past few days. So I've been putting these together."

He took out the papers he had been working on in prison, with the solved jigsaw puzzle of paper strips. He showed them to Peter.

"They're documents Fowler shredded after I requested access to my files."

Peter read and Neal watched his facial expression shift from skeptical to curious to horrified.

"I made that call from my home," Peter said.

"Yep."

"My God, they tapped my phone!"

"They didn't tap it. That would require a court order. Look at your phone."

He pointed at the phone he had opened on the table before and shown Elizabeth. There was something inside that was not supposed to be there.

"It's a bug," Neal said, though Peter should know these things. "Standard bureau issue. Activates when you pick it up."

"They've been inside my house." The realization hit Peter. It seemed to shock him. Neal had never had felt that about intrusions. He had never had that kind of home where he could expect to have things private.

Peter walked around in the room as if he tried to get a grip.

"They couldn't have had authorization," Peter said. "Not within the window of the crime and his suspicion of you."

"Exactly. Fowler is dirty. Peter, I have access to every file the FBI has on me. You had Jones process a request to look at my initials on the bond forgery. After you checked, to see if I was telling the truth, one other person checked it too."

"Fowler," Peter mumbled, following Neal's line of thought.

"Then my initials just happened to show up on the pink diamond. He's using you to get to me."

Neal had nothing more to say.

"My minute's up," He waited, watching Peter for a reaction. His handler turned towards the windows as if he wanted to put the blame on all this on those cops outside.

"We need to find the real thief or you'll go down, Neal. Whatever reason Fowler has to frame you…"

"I think I know why."

Peter glanced at him.

"I need something to drink. How about you?"

Neal shook his head. Peter disappeared into the kitchen and Neal slid down on the floor, suddenly exhausted. Peter returned with a glass of water. He unpacked his briefcase and sat down by the table with a few files.

"I don't know if they can hear us, but if they can, it's too late anyway, and they can't use this in any way. It's illegal and contains info against their cause. But I don't know how much can be seen from outside, so I just act normal and you stay out of sight."

Neal nodded.

"Said I'd give a full confession," the kid said. "So here it is."

Peter watched him, curious.

"I've been trying to find Kate."

Peter smiled. He was glad that Neal was honest with him, even though he had been pretty certain all the time that Neal would search for her.

"Am I supposed to look surprised?"

"Maybe. I talked to her, Peter."

This he had not known or guessed. When and how did he do that? Neal searched in his inner pocket and handed him a photo. It was the one of Kate, the black and white from San Diego. The one who started it all.

"I'm familiar with this photo."

"But you haven't seen all of it."

Neal handed him another one, the second half of the photo. So Neal had the whole photo too. As he did. Though he had not told the kid.

"She's being held by someone," Neal continued. "She's too scared to say who. But after our Chinatown operation, Interpol told me the man who has Kate is with the FBI."

Yes, it was an FBI-ring alright, but Peter did not need Interpol to know that. So that was probably all Interpol got. They had the same photo and had seen the same ring. Whoever pulled that photo from the camera at the ATM had no idea how many that listened for illegal use of the systems. The FBI got the image, Interpol too. If Peter could change the past he wished he had shown what he had on Kate at once. But there was no way he could have known what a mess it would cause them both with him hoping Neal would accept that Kate left him.

"You think it's Fowler?" Peter asked.

"I do now."

If Fowler had wanted to frame Neal, it could not be because he wanted the kid back in prison.

"What's he want from you?"

"I don't know," Neal said in almost a whisper. "It could be anything."

Did the kid have so much stolen items that he had to guess?

"Like what?"

A faint smile flew over Neal's face.

"No. No, you'd have to arrest me."

Somehow Peter got the feeling that it was out of forethought, rather than to protect himself.

"I should be arresting you right now," Peter pointed out.

"But you're not."

True, because Neal had been framed and they needed proof.

"So, give him what he wants."

Whatever you are hiding you have no use for it anyway, Peter thought.

"If I do, there's no guarantee I'll ever see her again."

Not the love-sick puppy again! Peter wanted to bark. How long would it take Neal to understand that Kate left him? She might even be an active part of this game.

"We need to look into Fowler," Neal said.

"You're asking me to investigate OPR. That's suicide."

"He's already investigating you."

"We'd have to go behind the bureau's back." No. No way that he would do that.

Neal grinned.

"Not if you clear me first. It's what you do for a living, right?"

Peter looked at the kid. Yeah, nowadays it seemed to be the case. God, how he liked Neal. Peter's smiled resulted in a wide beaming one from Neal. He got to his feet.

"All right. I'll be in touch." Neal handed him a phone. "This is untraceable. But if you need to get in touch with me—"

"Don't say another word," Peter cut him off, accepting the phone. Had he gone insane? He was letting a fugitive go. "Don't wanna know where you're going."

"Plausible deniability?"

"Words to live by."

"Peter…"

He looked into the kid's eyes. Yeah, he knew. They both knew. Neal was a fugitive, a con man, a thief on the run. And Peter was the FBI agent who spent three years chasing him and arrested him. And now they were friends. And Peter was letting Neal go. For now. Because he knew he was doing the right thing.

He just gave him a nod to acknowledge Neal's unspoken gratefulness and made a gesture towards the back door. And Neal was gone.


	14. Smile for the camera

When Peter came to the office the next morning he saw a frustrated Jones hanging up the phone.

"What's the latest?" he asked his fellow agent.

"We got conflicting intel. I mean, we got reports of Caffrey sighted everywhere from Jersey to Geneva."

How did Neal do that? It was not the first time. When they chased the kid it happened from time to time that he was sighted all over the world. All that was missing was a long-distance call from him in the middle of the night.

"He's covering his bases."

"He stole them right off the field."

Fowler, still hanging around, came up to him.

"You got a quick minute?"

"Yeah," Peter replied but remained where he was by Jones' desk, giving no hint that his office was a better place to talk.

Fowler glanced at Jones but had no other choice than take the initiative himself.

"I just wanted to apologize for the other day, you know?" he said. "We want what's best for the bureau, right?"

If Hughes had not been on his side and Fowler's words had had any vital effect, the apology would not reach far. As it were, no one had listened to his complaints.

"Of course," Peter agreed and turned to Jones.

"Let me ask you a question. Just hypothetically. If you had to guess right now, where's Caffrey?"

Peter gave it a second hard thought.

"Probably trying to leave the country, if he hasn't already."

"Oh, you don't think he'd stay in Manhattan?" Fowler seemed baffled.

"Would there be a reason to?" Oh, God, he had learned that way of answering from Neal alright.

"I don't know. Wanna make sure we're using our resources as wisely as possible."

"Like I said, roadblocks and wanted posters."

"That's how we catch him?"

"Good start. If you don't mind, I gotta work." Peter turned to Jones and leaned on his desk, but Fowler remained. Both of them turned to glare at him for hovering. Fowler got the hint and left.

"Do me a favor," he mumbled to Jones.

"Yeah, what's up?"

"Keep an eye on this Fowler guy and his goons."

"I'm allowed to do that?"

"I'm authorizing you to. Something isn't right."

Jones nodded and Peter walked up to his office. Ten minutes later Jones knocked on his door-frame.

"Got a minute?"

"Sure, come in."

The man did and closed the door behind him. He gave Peter a straight-forward look.

"Before you accepted Caffrey's deal you said that if I had any concerns I should talk to you."

"I did. What is it?"

"We both know roadblocks and wanted posters are no way to catch Caffrey. Either you don't want OPR to interfere or you don't want Caffrey caught at all. I just want to know what's going on."

"Can it stay between us?"

"Sure." Jones sat down.

"Neal has shown me things that made me believe he was set up. By OPR."

"Shown when?"

"Yesterday night. At my house."

"And you didn't arrest him."

Peter noted it was not as much a question as a fact. It was obvious he had not taken him in. He leaned forward.

"You've every right to object and I don't blame you, but what he had was not proof of the kind that holds in court. If I take him in now, he'll go to prison for something he didn't do."

He watched for Jones' reaction.

"Guess the system doesn't always work, does it?" he said.

"No. I know it's supposed to, but…"

"I don't blame you. I'm not prepared to risk my job for a convicted felon. If you are, it's up to you. Thank you for telling me, Peter."

He rose and aimed for the door.

"Jones…"

"Yeah?"

"I don't blame you for not being prepared to do the same, but just keep in mind that it's because he's a convicted felon that he got framed and people don't believe him. Like it or not, but Neal is in an exposed and vulnerable position."

Jones let go of the door handle and considered what Peter just said. He nodded.

"I think you two have a solid friendship where you can trust each other, and that's a good thing and something to take pride in. I also believe Caffrey is a valuable asset to this team and I trust him when it comes to doing his job. But I don't think he's near as loyal to any of us, or to the Bureau for that matter, that he is to you, Peter. I think you can cuff him and bring him in if you have to, and your friendship would still hold. Me, I could not. So, I'm happy you're friends, but I prefer to see him as a colleague and a con-man."

"Okay," Peter nodded. "Thank you. For your faith in me."

"In the two of you," Jones grinned and left.

Peter smiled. That type of honest conversation was rare. He wished he had those with Neal a bit more often.

Minutes later he left his office and walked through the office towards the elevators. As he waited for it to arrive he saw Jones rise and start a conversation with one of the OPR goons that had his tabs on Peter. The goon turned to answer Jones and Peter took the opportunity to slip into one of the elevators on the other side. It was a simple trick, but it would be enough to keep the tail of his back.

The phone he had for Peter to contact him buzzed and he took the call.

"Still moving on the streets of New York?" Peter asked.

"I'm even within my radius." Now when he had the chance he still remained where he had been for months now.

"Good. Meet me at our jewelry store in twenty minutes."

What was Peter up to now?

"I didn't think I was supposed to return to the scene of the crime."

"Let's revisit it and figure out how you allegedly pulled this all off."

Neal grinned. Did Peter dare to be seen with him? It was a good sign. He walked there in less than fifteen and leaned against a tree reading the paper. Someone had thought it was a splendid idea to call out to the public about his escape. It attracted the vanity in him.

"Nice disguise, Jacko," Peter said.

Well, too many people knew him in this little area of New York and sunglasses and did not hurt. Neal flipped the paper open to the page where his mug shot filled the whole page.

"I never really liked this picture."

"Oh, it's pretty good for a mug shot."

"Better than my driver's license photo," Neal admitted.

"Which one? You have several." Neal just replied with a glance at Peter. "All right, one crime at a time. I wanna check out that vault."

"Yeah. Well, I can't exactly walk in." He had a habit of blending in, but walking into a crime scene where he was supposed to have committed the crime and have wanted posters all over town was way too bold for his taste.

"I'm gonna tell them you're in my custody, and you'll show me how you got in."

Neal grinned.

"Stealthy. Peter, I'm starting to like you again."

"Well, we're hanging out too much."

Peter walked to the door of the store and Neal tagged along.

"Off with the glasses, Neal."

Neal did. There was just an NYPD officer there and Peter just had to flash his badge and no further questions was asked. It was too easy. They ducked under the yellow crime scene tape and walked into the vault. Up in the corner over the door was the surveillance camera.

"We assumed the thief went through blind spots of the surveillance camera," Peter said. "But Forensics says that the alarm was never tampered with."

"Well, that's not possible unless he—"

"He never left the vault."

So he had entered as an ordinary customer and walked into the vault on the day when the alarm was not on? And hidden were? Peter and he searched the room, but there was not much to find. All there was, was white solid walls, and two panels with light.

"This wasn't flickering on the security tape," Neal noted when he watched the shining panel.

Peter turned to watch it.

"No, it wasn't." He brought out a keyring and with the help of a key he tried to loosen the frame with plastic covering the lights.

"Come on," Peter mumbled, impatiently. Then the frame came loose and he lifted it aside.

They both stared at the two strip lights on the other side, beside a white, spotless wall.

"Nothing."

"It could be a misdirect," Neal said and walked to the other panel. Peter throw him the keys and Neal pulled the frame away.

Peter grinned when he saw the wall between the two strip lights. Neal eased with his fingers along the seam that was not supposed to be there and the panel came loose, exposing a brick wall behind.

"How did the FBI miss this?"

"We didn't," Peter answered. "Fowler had OPR take over the investigation."

His handler tried the wall with his foot and then gave it a proper push. It crumbled and fell. They crawled through the hole and Neal found himself standing in some odd area between two house's basements.

"I'll be—" Peter mused. "This is an old Prohibition tunnel."

Neal had heard about them but had never had the chance to use one of them himself. They had never been where he needed them.

"Yeah, well, someone found a new use for it."

They followed it and soon it ended in a short ladder and a double metal hatch. Peter flung it open and they exited on a sidewalk as if they exited Alice in Wonderland.

"I'll call in a team," Peter said, bringing his phone out. "We'll start canvassing for witnesses."

Neal's eyes fell on something above his head, on the wall.

"We may not have to."

Peter followed his eyes and saw what he saw.

"Oh. Who said Big Brother's a bad thing?" he grinned. "Jones I'm gonna need you to pull a video off a surveillance camera."

Peter walked down the sidewalk to his house and walked inside. The police car was gone, but that was no reason to take any chances. He walked to the back door and let Neal inside.

"Hi, partner" the kid grinned.

"Don't call me that."

"Any milk and cookies left?"

"There's beer in the fridge if you want one," Peter replied and opened his laptop as he sat down on the sofa.

The front door opened and Elizabeth came home. She stared at the two men in his house who were both as frozen.

"Hi, hon," Peter greeted her.

"Hi, hon. Hi, Neal. I suppose I haven't seen this, right?"

"Yeah." Peter felt embarrassed somehow. But Elizabeth just smiled.

"Well, it's pretty late and I am way too tired to notice anything before I go to bed." She walked upstairs.

Neal pulled off his jacket and sneaked up to the window towards the street.

"Where's OPR?"

"I had Jones reassign them to Penn Station."

"Jones? How did he do that?"

"He does a pretty good Fowler," Peter replied, dead serious, but it was actually quite funny. He opened the file with the surveillance footage. The hatch he and Neal had walked out from was right there, as well as enough of the sidewalk to get a good view.

"All right, we're coming up to the place where our masked man enters the vault."

Neal turned from the window and leaned on the back of the sofa behind him.

"Add a minute for him to double back, cover his tracks," Neal said.

The hatch opened and a man climbed out.

"Wait, wait, wait." Neal slid around the sofa and sat down beside Peter. "Hold it right there. Is that Tulane?"

Impossible to tell since they saw no face. The man closed the hatches.

"All right, play it at half speed," the kid requested. Peter did.

The man walked away in slow motion. Soon he would be out of frame.

"That's gotta be Tulane," Peter said as if it helped. A woman walked in the opposite direction. "Come on, come on! Turn around!"

And if by magic the man on the footage did, to watch the passing beauty.

"Gotcha!" Neal grinned as Peter froze the image when Tulane's face was in view.

"Oh, I guess he never did go to Madrid."

"I knew his plane tickets were fakes," Neal said.

Peter glanced at Neal.

"No, you didn't."

The kid shrugged.

"Guy steals 3.2 million in diamonds," Peter mused, "and we get him because he can't resist a pretty face."

"Well, it happens to the best of us."

Well, you ran right into a trap because of a pretty face, kid, Peter thought. Neal caught him glancing at him.

"What?"

"You know what."

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do."

Neal rose from the sofa.

"I need to go to the bathroom."

"Upstairs, first door on your left. Leave the seat down when you're done."

Neal walked upstairs and Peter took his phone and called Jones. It was late, but Jones was still awake.

"Take a bunch of agents and bring Tulane in, right now. Put him in one of our holding cells for the night."

That way they would not give OPR and Fowler time to react and interfere if that was their intention.

"Alright. Does that count for Caffrey too?" Jones asked.

"Yeah. I'll see to that." Peter ended the call. Neal came back down. This would be tough.

"Neal…"

"Yeah?"

"I have to take you in this time."

Neal seemed as if someone popped his balloon like he had not thought of these things at all. He probably had not. Consequences were not what this kid considered most.

"You don't trust I'll get back?"

Peter rose.

"This is not about trust, Neal. If I didn't trust you, I would've arrested you yesterday. And I wouldn't spend the day with you today the way I did. But we are on that surveillance tape too, together. If someone sees that, and I let you go… Neal, you have to trust me. I'll have to take you in. You won't go to prison for this. Now we have the proof we need."

"I trust you, Peter. It's just… I…"

"Neal, I'll take you to a holding cell in the FBI headquarters, just two floors down. Not back to prison and no orange jumpsuit."

Neal stopped arguing, nodded and held out his hands. But Peter saw something in those blue eyes. Neal surrendered to him because the kid trusted him, but that did not make him less scared.

He brought out his cuffs, thumbed them.

"Promise me not to run, and you can stay the night in our guest room and I take you in after breakfast."

The fear in the kid's eyes was gone and the charmer was back.

"Too tired to drive?"

"Yeah, and the paperwork at the intake, way too late for that."

"I promise you, Peter, I won't run."

"Neal…"

"Yeah?"

"I have to take you in this time."

Neal went cold. They had spent a day together, without him wearing an anklet. Somehow he knew it all had to end, that he was a fugitive but somehow he had figured he could just walk into the office tomorrow as any ordinary day.

"You don't trust I'll get back?"

"This is not about trust, Neal. If I didn't trust you, I would've arrested you yesterday. And I wouldn't spend the day with you today the way I did. But we are on that surveillance tape too, together. If someone sees that, and I let you go… Neal, you have to trust me. I'll have to take you in. You won't go to prison for this. Now we have the proof we need."

"I trust you, Peter. It's just… I…" How could he explain? He was an adult and felt like a five-year-old missing his dad.

"Neal, I'll take you to a holding cell in the FBI headquarters, just two floors down. Not back to prison and no orange jumpsuit."

Neal nodded and held out his hands. It was better than he had feared. And it was Peter. He just had to fight his fears. He trusted Peter alright, and he knew he had to return to FBI somehow and he did not want to smudge Peter's reputation. It was just the idea of a lonely night in an unknown cell the scared him.

Peter watched him with the cuffs in his hands.

"Promise me not to run, and you can stay the night in our guest room. And I take you in after breakfast."

Though Neal took pride in keeping up a smiling face and hide his emotions, he was glad at times when Peter could read him so well.

"Too tired to drive?" he joked back.

"Yeah, and the paperwork at the intake, way too late for that."

"I promise you, Peter, I won't run."

Peter nodded and put his cuffs back in his pocket. Neal lowered his hands. They walked upstairs and Peter showed him the guest room. He left and returned with sheets.

"You manage?" he asked.

Neal grinned.

"Peter, if there's one thing you excel in after a few years in prison, it's making your own bed."

Peter smiled, said goodnight, and sneaked into their own bedroom to not wake up his wife.

Neal stood a moment in pure surprise with the sheets in his hands. His handler, the FBI agent, had left him unguarded. No anklet, nothing. He had that much trust in him so he could leave a fugitive without supervision in his own home. Peter had not even locked the door to the guest room.

Neal made the bed, kicked off his shoes and decided to sleep in his jockeys. The bed felt almost as good as his own. And he was tired.


	15. The benefactor

When Peter awoke the next morning he heard voices and laughter downstairs. El's side of the bed was empty. He got dressed and peeked inside the guest bedroom. It was empty, but he knew who the other voice he heard belonged to. He walked down and into the kitchen, only to find Neal and El in the middle of making breakfast.

"Morning, hon," his wife smiled at him.

"Morning, Peter," Neal beamed.

Peter felt he could not have a better start at the day. And whatever troubled Neal last night, it seemed to have passed.

"You said you'd cuff me after breakfast, right?"

"Yeah. I did."

They had a pleasant morning together, though it had something of a surreal mode about it. When they finished, El left for her work. Peter suspected that she did not wish to see Neal restrained. He pulled out his cuffs. Neal put on his jacket and held out his hands without fuss.

"Does this makes it 3 and 0?" he asked when Peter locked them.

"No. Turning yourself over to me doesn't count."

In the car, Peter called Jones who confirmed Tulane was in custody. He shared a smile with Neal, who heard since the phone was on speaker.

"But no sign of Caffrey yet," Jones remarked, with a hint of the unspoken underlying question.

"He's sitting right beside me," Peter told him. "In cuffs."

"That's good to hear. No offense, Caffrey."

"None taken," Neal grinned.

"I'll leave Neal in a holding cell on my way up. Jones, can you have Tulane ready for me?"

"Sure thing, Peter."

They hung up and Peter arrived in the FBI garage. Neal was so confident, so trusting, that this would turn out well. With every right, Peter thought. He left Neal in the holding area and told the agent on duty that Neal's presence was just a formality and that he should be treated nice.

Then he walked up to the office and talked to Jones who showed him a bag belonging to Tulane. Peter grinned at walked into the interrogation room, showing the bag under the table, out of sight.

He sat down in front of the waiting Tulane. The young man reminded him of Neal, and still not. What he had instantly liked with Neal was missing. And he had not needed three long years to chaise this man either.

"How did you know which vault the diamond would be in?" Peter started.

He just got a smirk in return.

"Silence won't help you," he told his suspect, "but maybe I can."

Tulane snorted.

"Tell me everything, and I can talk to the prosecutor about immunity."

"Why would you give me immunity?" the young thief asked as if he had offered water to a sailor.

"Believe it or not, I don't think you're the brains behind this operation."

"Playing on my vanity?" Tulane laughed. "Please! You have some video that proves nothing."

It was Peter's turn to smirk.

"Search warrant helped us find this…" He hoisted up the bag he got from Jones on the table. "In a townhouse of one of your… puzzle girls."

From the bag, he brought out a black velvet pouch and from the pouch, he pulled the necklace with the pink diamond. He placed it on the table between them.

"I think that proves something."

Tulane was caught and he knew it.

"Well, if you're asking for my expertise I can tell you that a crime like this often has a benefactor," the man tried. "The entire operation, from delivery route to exit strategy, is handed to someone."

"Tell me something I don't know," Peter said.

Tulane leaned across the table as if he was about to tell a secret.

"Men with privileged information often hire people with certain skills to do what they can't." Tulane leaned back in his chair again. "Of course, all of this is just hypothetical."

"This conversation is not hypothetical. Immunity for a name."

"Oh, is he the prosecutor?" Tulane pointed at someone behind his back, behind the glass wall.

Peter did not know for sure who it was but had a guess.

"Immunity for a name," he insisted.

"I would if I could," Tulane said with a wicked grin. He glanced over Peter's shoulder. "The more I learn, the more I think this whole case is a setup."

"A lot of that seems to be going around. Last chance, Tulane. Immunity for a name."

"I don't have one." He seemed honest alright, but it mattered little.

Peter rose and turned to the door. Outside was Fowler, as he had guessed. They said nothing to each other. Peter called for a transportation of Tulane to the detention center. An agent turned up, put cuffs on Tulane and took him to the elevator. Peter followed, with a vain hope for a name, after all.

The elevator arrived and Tulane was walked inside.

Fowler and his nameless goon left the office at the same time, briefcase in hand. Peter held the elevator for them.

"Make a little room."

The goon walked in but Peter halted Fowler and held up the bug Neal had found.

"I found this stuck on my home phone. Thought you might've dropped it."

He placed in Fowler's breast-pocket. Fowler smirked.

"I'm not done with this investigation, Burke."

"Neither am I."

Fowler nodded and entered the elevator. Peter watched them as the doors closed. Tulane did not give the men from OPR a second glance. And Fowler had his eyes only on Peter. Not much info to be found there.

Neal looked up from his book when he heard the cell door open. Peter and Jones, and they were smiling.

"What took you so long?"

It was not just a smart remark. Neal had actually begun to wonder. It was late.

"Do you have any idea how many people I've had to convince that you should just be reinstated as it was before your arrest?" Peter asked in return. "Not to mention the paperwork. But here we are. You're cleared."

"Interesting choice of literature," Jones remarked at the juridical book Neal had been reading.

"Do you mind if I stay a bit longer? It's a thrilling passage right now. If the whole FBI library is like this, I'll stay here for good. Much more interesting than the prison library." They shared grins. None of the agents knew that he actually liked that kind of reading.

"Speaking of prison," Jones said and held up the anklet.

Somehow Neal got the impression that Jones liked to put it on. Maybe he was just doing his job. It mattered little. It had to come on, and Jones was correct. Neal got to his feet and placed his foot on the bunk. The agent fastened it around his ankle.

"Let's go up to the office," Peter suggested.

They did. Many had gone home for the day. Lauren arranged something in the conference room. When they come in Neal saw a bottle of sparkling wine and paper cups.

"I thought that a small celebration would be appropriate," Peter said and uncorked the bottle with a loud pop.

"You really shouldn't drink champagne out of paper," Neal remarked with a smile. He was actually moved, but not comfortable enough to show it.

"You will and you'll like it," Peter said as he poured. "It's two-fold, really."

"Two-fold?" Neal took one of the cups.

"Yeah, you're off the hook," Lauren raised her cup.

"And our jobs are a lot easier when you run with us, not from us," Peter added.

"Hear, hear," Jones agreed and raised his.

"I'll drink to that." Neal's cup met the others' in what would have been a plinking sound if it had been glass.

The four of them sipped of their champagne. It was not the real thing, but it was the gesture as such that mattered.

"What about OPR?" he asked.

"They're gone," Peter said. "For now."

"Celebrate the victories, however long they last."

"I'll drink to that," his handler raised his cup again.

A woman turned up in the doorway.

"Mr. Caffrey? There's a call for you on Line 2."

"Oh, 'Mr. Caffrey, call on Line 2,'" Peter repeated with amusement.

"Probably my lawyer."

"You should put him on retainer," Peter suggested with a grin.

"I'll expense it," Neal agreed. Mozzie had done a great job. "Can I use your phone?"

"Go ahead."

Neal used the door directly to Peter's office. He heard the others laugh at the 'Mr. Caffrey'-thing. Well, it was pretty amusing. He picked up the phone and pushed the button for the second line.

"Mozzie, I told you, just sign the papers for me." Sure, he must have a good time calling the FBI, but…

"Neal? It's me." Not Mozzie's voice. At all.

"Kate."

"He's close to you, Neal." Her sweet voice. He wanted to be near her, hug her, kiss her.

"Look, I know who he is. He's with the FBI."

"Yes, just give him what he wants."

"What does he want?"

"I—" She paused. Was she afraid?

"Tell me, Kate. Kate?"

"You can't trust anyone."

"Kate?" The line went dead.

It was not Peter's intention to listen but there was no mumbling from the room next door any longer. Still, Neal did not return to them. He walked to the doorway and found Neal leaning against the window, watching the view. His face was miserable. Peter waited.

"It wasn't Mozzie," Neal said after a moment.

Well, he guessed that much. The kid turned his head and met his eyes.

"It was Kate."

"Kate?"

"Yeah…"

Peter leaned against the windowsill beside Neal.

"What did she want?"

"Tell me to give him what he wants, not to trust anyone. Then she hung up."

Peter did not want to tell Neal, but he was not surprised. That sounded so much as the Kate he thought she was. The Kate that used Neal, who drilled a hole in his heart and messed with his brain. He did not know Kate, but he had intel on her, as he once had collected information about Neal. The image he had was not someone sick with longing and love. Nothing he could prove or convince Neal with, though. And it was after all Neal's personal life. He had promised to help him find Kate, and he would.

"So, nothing new."

"No. Nothing new." Neal leaned his forehead on the cool glass.

He pattered the kid on the shoulder.

"I'll drive you home. Sleep in your own bed tonight, remember? Your apartment is waiting for its owner."

Neal pushed the problems away visually and sent him one of his knock-out smiles.


	16. Within the FBI

Neal was dropped off by Peter outside his home.

"Are you okay?" Peter asked.

Neal nodded.

"I'll be fine. See you tomorrow, Peter."

He walked upstairs to his apartment, opened the door and found Mozzie in the sofa with an open box of files from the FBI. He was excited.

"Oh, hey, I'm just going through these FBI files. There is a terrifying amount of information here. How many shots from the knoll? Let's take a look. Did Elvis fake his own death? Ask the mystery box."

Neal just waited. Mozzie saw his lack of enthusiasm.

"What's wrong?"

"Kate called me."

"And?"

"And I can't help her. She won't tell me where she is!"

Mozzie gave him a sly smile.

"I have a theory."

"Conspiracy?"

"Of course." He grabbed a paper and rose from the sofa. "Look at this. Fowler's ID number. Over here, a local address. Note the dates."

"This is from before the diamond heist."

"Yeah," Mozzie agreed, shining with satisfaction. "It's a hotel room. It's not linked to any operation I can find. Now, if I was inclined to believe in such things, I'd say it's worth a look. Room 525."

It was. He had been set up, and Kate was held captive. If this was not a conspiracy of some form he did not know what else it could be.

"Thanks, Moz."

He grabbed the paper and was out the door. His tiredness was gone. He got a cab and got to the hotel within fifteen minutes. It was a mid-class hotel who seemed to think beige was a fashionable color. He ran up the stairs, without the patience to wait for the elevator. Without hesitation, he banged his hands on the door marked 525.

"Open the door, Fowler," he yelled. "Kate!"

The door opened and Neal hurried inside and stopped dead.

There were a lot of people in the room. He saw a long-distance binoculars by the panorama window.

Fowler appeared in front of him, looking baffled.

"What are you doing here, Caffrey?"

Neal stared. This was not what he had expected at all.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"Who told you about this, huh?" Fowler wanted to know. "How do you know about Mentor?"

"Mentor?"

Fowler placed his hands on his hips and stared at him.

"What do you think is going on here? You're busting my operation here."

No, this could not be it. Mozzie had not found any records of this operation. And Fowler had set him up! And he was not going to fool him again.

"No. No, where is Kate?" He pushed passed Fowler "Kate?" He scanned around the room, not caring they were all staring at him. There was a second floor too.

"Kate?" Fowler repeated.

"Kate!" he called up the stairs.

"Kate? Kate Monroe? There's no Kate here, Neal."

He turned to Fowler, ready to object but Fowler did not smirk.

"Kate?" he called out to illustrate how insane it all was. "You're losing it."

"You were watching me!" Neal insisted. "Before the jewelry heist."

The man from OPR shook his head with a tired smile.

"I'm not in New York looking at you."

"That's a lie! You recorded my phone calls!"

He got a laugh in return and then a reply that hit his gut:

"No, I didn't bug your phone, Neal."

He stared at Fowler, who returned his gaze and raised his eyebrows knowingly. Yeah, they had not bugged his phone, but Peter's.

Neal gazed around the room and back at Fowler. This was a mistake. Kate was not here. And Fowler might not even be involved. His mind spun as he left the room without a word.

Peter sat alone in an armchair at the hotel room waiting. It was getting dark. He turned on the light on the table as the door opened. He only saw her as a silhouette towards the lit corridor outside.

"Hello, Kate."

"Hello, Peter." She stretched out her hand and flipped the light-switch turning on the rest of the lights in the room. It was Kate alright. Just as he remembered her. Long raven hair, pale eyes with a darker rim on the iris, stern features.

"We need to talk about Neal," he said.

"I guess we do." She turned and closed the door. As she did she pulled a gun from the waistline on the back of her pants. She took two steps towards him, gun traced at him.

Peter was not surprised, but disappointed. She only proved his theories about her. For Neal's sake, he had hoped he had been wrong. The Kate Neal thought he knew would never pull a gun.

"Kate, put the gun on the table."

She did not. But she saw something on his right hand. He smiled and held up his hand, showing the FBI-ring on his little finger. The same kind of ring shown on the photo Neal carried with him.

"You recognize this? Yeah, I've got one too. Just like Fowler."

"Who?"

He gave her a knowing smile.

"Shoot me or put the gun on the table."

She considered and then placed the gun on the table next to her. She jammed her hands in the pockets of her short coat.

"It's been a while."

"Five years," Peter said. Not quite, but close enough. "First time I caught Neal."

"What do you want?"

"Leave Neal alone."

"I can't do that," she said.

Peter smiled.

"Why not? What does Neal have that you so desperately want? I can get it for you." Yes, he was prepared to hand over stolen goods to her if that was it cost to end her terror.

"Why would you do that?"

"Why? Because he's good. Because he's the smartest guy I've ever met. And I'm tired of watching you twist his heart around," Peter said bluntly. "He's my friend. Let him go."

Her face was cold as a doll's.

"Neal stole a piece."

"He's stolen a lot of things."

"This one is special. It's a music box. That's my price."

She had said it was her price, not what anybody else's. Her price to leave Neal alone was a music box. He had no idea what item it might be. If Neal had stolen it, it was something he did not know of. He rose. She glanced at her gun as he approached. He studied her face.

"Did you ever love him?" he asked. She just looked back. Not even a try to lie and say yes. Maybe she thought it was none of his business, but still, was it not natural to say that you did when you were supposed to love someone? She did not deserve Neal. This was not the Kate Neal loved.

"Tell Fowler I know. And I'm not backing off."

He moved towards the door.

"Peter!" Kate called out and he turned back. "Don't push him."

For the first time, he saw any trace of emotions in her eyes. He smirked and left the hotel room. He had promised Neal to help him find Kate and he had. But just because Neal was his best friend he would do his best to keep them apart. Neal was an adult but it was something with this woman that his love-sick heart did not see that would make any older brother protect his younger brother from.

The same evening sat Neal at home, by his table, and watched the chess board waiting for Mozzie's move. It felt so stereotype to play Chess but there were classy boards and pieces as few other games had. At least Mozzie did not favor Monopoly. But Neal could think of at least five board games requiring high-level thinking that was more interesting than Chess.

It had been a long day with desk-job. Not exactly what he needed after yesterday night.

Moz moved his queen and took one of Neal's pawns.

"If only there were some way to compare this to your life," his friend said.

"I get it, Moz. I'm a pawn." No need to think further there. "Your analogy lacks creative thinking," he muttered while he moved his knight.

"You're upset because it's accurate," Mozzie said. "See, Kate has reign over the entire board." He pointed at the queen. "While your movements are more… restricted," he said glancing down at the anklet.

"Fowler has to be lying about Peter. There's no way he has Kate." It did not make any sense. He trusted Peter. All Peter had done for him. His gut told him Peter did not bring him out of prison to play tricks on him and use Kate against him.

"Neal, everyone has a price," Mozzie pointed out. "Peter's been in the position to control everything. I hate to give the suit credit, but he's smart."

"I know him," Neal insisted. "There's no way he could do it."

Moz shrugged.

"If you're so sure, then prove it," he said and made his move, taking Neal's queen with his bishop. "Find the ring you find the king."

"See if he has it," Neal said. He could keep his eyes open for a ring.

"I'm the bishop if you were wondering," Mozzie added.

"I wasn't." Neal could not help but wonder if his friend had been just as eager to do the same analogy if they played Hive, a game with similarities but without an actual board the pieces you moved were insects. Neal hoped an interesting case waited for him the next day.


	17. Light switches to the Amish

Peter greeted his visitor as he entered the office.

"Agent Landry? Pleased to meet you."

"Agent Burke. I've heard much about you."

They shook hands.

"How's the weather in Dallas?"

They walked towards Peter's office.

"Hot and dry. Got a boiler room case for you. I hope you can help us out."

The agent placed a blue folder in Peter's hands. He flipped it open and scanned the contents.

"You need a man on the inside?"

"Do you have a guy who could sell a radio to a deaf?"

Peter grinned.

"Yeah, I do." Somehow he could not stop smiling.

"What? Don't tell me it's this Neal Caffrey."

"It is."

Peter did not blame his visitor from Dallas for not instantly believe in the idea. But he was pretty sure he could convince him. If he could not, Neal would.

"You trust him?" Agent Landry asked.

Peter, on the other hand, was confident.

"Look, he's the guy you want for this."

"Well, you didn't answer my question," the agent noted.

Luckily for Peter, Neal just walked through the double doors of the office. The kid smiled and said hi to colleagues he passed until he stopped before the two agents.

"Morning, Peter."

"Morning. Agent Landry, meet Neal Caffrey."

"Con man turned FBI consultant," Landry said as he scanned the young man up and down.

Neal beamed.

"My reputation precedes me."

"Well, you're hard to miss." The agent held up a newspaper with Neal's mugshot on the front page. "You took a swan dive out of a judge's chamber into a bakery awning."

"I really don't like that picture. But they do have the greatest cakes in town."

Honestly, kid, Peter thought. Is the bakery for real?

Neal gave him a look.

"What's up?"

"Agent Landry is here from the Dallas field office following a boiler room case—"

"Actually, I'm still catching Burke up on the details," Landry cut in. "Nice to meet you."

Peter was not sure if Neal deliberately chose to miss the hint but finally, it was unavoidable to recognize it. He smiled and left them.

"You think Caffrey's the man for this job?"

"Oh, yeah."

"He's a criminal."

And that made him less competent? Peter wondered why that particular epithet was such a problem in this case. Neal had proven himself a valuable asset for the team more than once.

"So are the guys in the boiler room," he pointed out for his fellow agent. "Look, I busted him for bond forgery—"

"I know the story," Landry interrupted. "Then the guy breaks out of prison."

It was not what he had been about to say, but since Landry put those words in his mouth, it must be what concerned him the most.

"Four months left on a four-year sentence," Peter filled in.

"He's an idiot," the agent said.

"No. No," Peter laughed. "It was for a girl."

They both watched Neal sitting on a desk by a young woman who seemed to adore him.

"Looks like he could have his pick," the other man noted.

"Yeah, well, there's something special about Kate," Peter said. Called blind love, he thought. "Point is, she's no longer an issue."

Neal was soon involved in a discussion with another colleague, leaning on his desk. His was anklet visible and Peter noted, pleased, once again that its presence was no longer a problem for the kid at the office among his coworkers.

"You got a tracking anklet on him? How's that work?"

"We can pull a map on his movements at any time. If he's working or with me, we don't worry about it. When he's off the clock, he's on a two-mile radius. He goes outside that, we get an alert." It was simple and it was working, yet his fellow agent sighed. Why were people so one-dimensional, placing everything and everyone as good or bad?

"Look, you need somebody who can talk their way into a high-pressure sales environment," Peter said. "He's your guy."

Neal said thanks to his colleague and returned to them holding two tickets.

"I got some Rangers tickets. Box seats," he said and Peter smiled. The kid could not have had any better timing. "You guys interested?"

Peter glanced at Arthur Landry. He was clearly taken aback.

"Okay."

Neal gave him a big charming knockout and placed the tickets in is chest pocket with a 'boop'.

Peter and the visiting agent entered the conference room from Peter's office. Neal felt kind of lonely where he sat as the only one along that side of the table. The other four had placed themselves on the other side. That Lauren Cruz had did not surprise him, but Jones? He had the impression that Jones had accepted him as a colleague. Well, maybe he made a too big deal of how they were seated. And maybe he just had to accept that he was a convicted felon in an odd position with the FBI.

"This is a boiler room scam," Peter began. "We've got an office full of junior Gordon Geckos selling bad stock. A classic pump and dump. Guy in charge buys half a million shares of dollar stocks. Gets his boys to inflate the price by selling it over the phone. Then dumps his stock when it peaks, leaving buyers holding worthless shares."

"People are losing homes over this," Agent Landry continued. "Guy last month got taken for fifty-thousand dollars. He's got three kids. And no roof to put over their heads now."

His first name was Arthur, Neal had found out. Not that he had access to any of FBI's grand and fascinating systems beyond barely his case files, but it was written in the file with background material that had been shared between them in the room on beforehand.

Peter had walked to the other end of the room and was now behind him. Neal was an observant person and he had been fully aware that his friend had been trying to sell this Arthur something that involved him.

"The average victim of this scam loses nearly thirty grand," Peter said. "So we need to shut this room down."

"Room's mobile?" Neal asked. Considering the other agent was from Dallas…

Agent Arthur Landry nodded.

"They've run this operation four times. They dump the stock, move to another location."

"Who's in charge?" The file was pretty empty on that area.

"That's what we're trying to figure out."

"Landry's got somebody on the inside," Peter told them as he passed behind Neal's back again, "a female informant."

"Female? How'd she work her way into the boys' club?" He got the image of Margret Thatcher in his mind and erased it.

"She hasn't," Landry admitted.

"That's why we're sending in someone who can," Peter said. "Someone who can hustle with the best of them."

His handler dropped the file he had been holding in front of him. He glanced around the room. Jones and Lauren grinned. So this was what Peter had sold the visitor.

"I guess we won't be drawing straws."

"Jones, Cruz, you arrange all we need to monitor the calls and other surveillance. That'll be all. Neal, you come with me."

They walked into Peter's office.

"You're gonna interview with a guy named Brad."

"Of course his name is Brad. You think I can keep up? Peter, I'm flattered."

He had never worked as a salesman, and doing it over the phone… Neal was actually not sure that he was that good.

"Give me a break," Peter huffed. "You could sell light-switches to the Amish."

Neal landed on Peter's visitor's chair with a smile. Maybe selling was just a kind of con. He could do that.

"Madison Cookler, that's our girl on the inside," Peter said and handed him a photo of a blond, natural beauty. He whistled.

"Yeah, exactly," Peter agreed. "She won't know who you are."

"What's her role in this?"

"The guys transfer the calls, after they make a sale, to her. She takes down all the buyer's information. But thanks to her, we know what kind of stocks these guys are looking to hock. We went fishing with several of our own front companies. They took the bait on that one," his handler pointed on Neal's file. "Rhymer Pharmaceutical."

"You got a tap on every phone in the place?"

"Yep. We're recording every call. But the sales are real. We just wanna know who's behind it all."

"So do I," Neal mumbled. He may be a criminal but he had never made families homeless or taken someone's life savings.

"What's that?"

"Nothing," he assured Peter who brought out a pen from a special box and showed it to Neal as he rounded the desk and leaned on it opposite Neal.

"For me? Peter, I didn't get you anything."

Peter smiled and pushed a button on the pen. 'For me? Peter, I didn't get you anything,' the pen repeated.

"We call it an Eagle," Peter said. "Recorder, transmitter, GPS. Keep it on you at all times."

Neal accepted it with awe. It was a high-tech beauty.

"Love it."

Neal put the pen in his inner pocket.

Peter produced a pair of sturdy scissors.

"We need to cut your anklet on this one."

Peter handed him the scissors and Neal grinned all over his face.

"Love it even more."

"No, you don't," Peter objected with a warning in his voice and kept his grip on the scissors. He looked Neal in his eyes.

"After your last escape, we need a home run. A lot of people think I made a mistake."

Some people did not see the whole picture, did they? He had not been sure if Peter joked or not when he said he had had to convince a lot of people to get him back to the office. By the sound of it, his handler had had quite a few discussions.

"Let's prove them wrong," Neal said. As far as he was concerned, he would. Peter let him have the scissors and watched him as he cut his anklet. He loved the feeling of the blades cutting through the band.

"Yeah. Or else you're headed back to maximum-security." Peter did not smile. It felt comforting to know that it was something his handler did not want. Neal could not help smiling as he put the anklet on the desk.

"Glad some things never change."

"Neal, I won't risk that these guys see you with an anklet. When you're done with your work, you go straight home. If you need to do an errand, just give me a call, alright?"

"Wow. A night's sleep as a free man. Thanks, Peter." He fired off one of grandest smiles.

"There will be people watching outside June's when you're home."

Of course, there would be. And it was just as well. He did not want to get the blame for anything more than necessary. Especially not things he had not done.

"I can pretend they are not there."

"As long as you don't give them a reason to call me."

Neal walked into the office where he was told to have his interview. There was lots of space, but it was undecorated and worn down. Fourteen desks with salesmen on the phone with a grand view through windows all around the outer walls, but bare light bulbs hanging from the ceiling. Definitely a temporary and movable solution.

He made sure he had his pen in his inner pocket, mustered up his confidence and walked up between the two rows of desks to the slightly bigger, single desk in the corner of the room. At the desk sat a young man which Neal figured was Brad.

A blond, slender beauty approached the same desk, and Neal recognized her.

"Madison," the young man at the desk said. "Give me some good news."

"Two closes, 3200 shares," she replied with an adoring smile.

"Yes! That's what I like to hear." He signed the paper she handed him and returned it.

She left and the young man ate her with his eyes. When he saw that Neal also gazed in her direction he nailed him with his eyes.

"Don't get your hopes up. I already get dibs on that one."

"Does she know that?" Neal replied with a gentle, innocent smile to lower the man's hostility.

"Since when does that matter?"

Neal could not help but stare at the man who turned more repulsive for every breath. The guy broke up into a grin as if he had been joking, and Neal joined. He met the fist that greeted him with his own in some form of so-called manly hello.

"I'm Brad. You must be…" he checked his list, "Nick Halden."

"Guilty as charged."

Brad removed his headset and they shook hands.

"Hey, your U5 says you were terminated from Lehman Brothers."

"Oh, yeah. The market crashed. Wasn't feeling the love."

"Oh, you couldn't find a job working anywhere else?"

"I wasn't interested. Wanna make some real cash."

"Listen, our turnover rate is huge. High volume, high money. You make sales, you get paid," Brad assured him. "You know what? Don't waste time taking down client information just transfer it over to the girls over there. They mop up. It's women's work anyway, right?"

Neal kept his thoughts to himself but the man in front of him was one who could never earn his respect.

"Okay," he said, "let's do this."

"Hang on a second. I haven't hired you yet," Brad objected. He knocked on the shoulder of the nearest salesman.

"You, take a break."

The man took off his headset and left.

"Let's start your interview."

Neal put on the headset.

"Wanna give me some numbers?" he asked as he sat down by the desk.

"Yes, take your pick."

Brad gave him a list of possible customers on the screen.

"This 216 area code feels lucky," Neal said to give Peter and Jones in the van a heads up.

"You got that? 216," Peter asked Jones.

"Cleveland. Getting ready to reroute the call now," Jones answered as he typed on the keyboard. "Anybody, in particular, you want to send it to?"

Peter considered, then he grinned. Jones got it. Peter's phone rang.

"Hello."

"Mr. Fairweather?" he heard Neal's voice in the other end.

"Speaking."

"My name is Nick Halden. I want to be your broker."

"I've already got a broker."

"Really? How's he doing for you? Make you any money last year?"

"Nobody made any money last year."

"That's not true. If you were with me, you'd have netted 3 percent. And that's after the crash."

"I don't believe you." You have to do better than that, kid, Peter thought.

"If you got an e-mail, I'll send you my earnings report now. Biotech and alcohol were up."

"How did you get my number?"

"Your old broker. He's not smart enough to keep you to himself. What do you do?"

Redirecting. Nice move, Neal.

"I'm a history teacher, but I'm not—"

"'The only history worth a damn is the history we make today.'" Neal broke in. "Who said that?"

Peter was impressed but also amused. Neal had picked a historical quote that a history teacher would love. A great move, if he had been a history teacher. Neal was well aware that he was talking to an FBI agent, and could just as much do it to tease him.

"I believe Henry Ford said that," Peter said, not without pride that he knew it.

"Yes. Yes, he did. And he was right. Have you heard of Rhymer Pharmaceutical?"

"No."

"Of course you haven't. Your job is to teach. My job is to know about companies like Rhymer before everyone else. You know when you don't buy a stock? When your cab driver tells you about it. Now, if you'd known about IBM before the invention of the microchip would you have bought in?"

"Of course."

"Well, Rhymer is poised for a breakout on the same scale. Monday, the FDA will approve them to begin clinical trials on a quantum-confined technology that has the potential to transform cancer medicines. I can get you in on the ground floor."

"That sounds like insider trading."

"Not at all. No, it's completely legit. Look, I pour over a thousand pages of scientific-technological BS so I can make you rich at three a share. Let's start small, okay? A thousand shares. I double that for you next week and then we get serious."

"Sounds nice. But I'd have to ask my wife," Neal heard Peter say in the other end.

"Oh, your sale just died, rookie," Brad grinned overhearing through his headset with his hand over the mike.

Thanks, Peter, what on Earth are you doing, Neal wondered. But he knew what his handler was doing. He was teasing and testing knowing fully well that his convict could handle it. Neal felt he grew at least a few inches by the faith Peter had in him. He beamed, though he was talking to a microphone.

"Mr. Fairweather, if you invest, the only question you'll have to ask your wife is what kind of hardwood floors does she want in her house."

"I don't know…"

A bit of hesitation at least, thank you, Peter! His handler should have been an actor instead of an FBI-agent.

"Life comes down to a few moments, Mr. Fairweather," Neal said. "This is one of them."

There was a pause. It was almost as if Peter did consider the offer for real.

"I'm in, but let's make it five thousand shares."

"Thank you. I'll transfer you over to one of our girls and she'll take your information." Neal pushed the transfer button and ripped off his headset. Now he saw that other salesmen had approached to listen.

"So how did my interview go?"

Brad looked as if Neal brought him the moon.

"Yes!"


	18. The man with the ring

Neal sat by the phone the rest of the day selling shares in a fake company to people completely unaware that he conned them. Though he had to admit he could earn a fortune, legally, as a salesperson it did not feel good. Especially not now when he knew he was selling a bluff to innocent people. He just hoped that Peter and the rest of the FBI would transfer the money back at them. He had to sell and sell beyond any expectations to stop these guys. It was the raw truth and he had to accept it.

Peter and his team had redirected his first call, but they could not take all of them. Brad and the company he worked for taped their calls too and if the same three people answered his fifty, sixty calls they would know something was wrong.

By the end of the day, he had sold far more than any of the others. Brad came to his desk with his suit jacket in his hand.

"Come on, Crazy Eight. Let's go."

"Crazy Eight?"

"No?" Brad checked with him for approval. Neal took off his headset, not sure if he dared to say it sounded silly.

His boss shrugged.

"You land close to eight whales in one day, you can buy your own nickname." He turned to the others. "Time to hit the bars."

The other men in the room cheered. Neal rose and took his jacket, ready to follow them. Brad stopped him.

"We're not going with them."

"Why not?"

"He wants to meet you."

"Who?"

"The man behind the curtain."

Neal grinned. With a little luck, he might not need to work for this arrogant bag of skit for long.

They left the office and took a cab. Neal knew how the pen worked. They could only hear him in the van if the was within a certain range. But the pen recorded too and it had GPS. They would be able to use whatever he heard, later.

He walked with Brad into a bar. It was one of those stiff bars where you mingled dressed in a suit with a glass of cognac in your hand. Legal literature filled the bookshelves that covered the whole walls. It looked more like a library than a bar.

Brad gestured to two men sitting in a corner, talking, one young and one older. They were too far away to hear what they were saying.

"That's him?"

"That's Avery. Guy on the left," Brad confirmed. "The youngest to have a seat on the New York Stock Exchange. The man with the plan. He finds the stocks, fronts the cash we do the legwork."

"Who's he talking to?" Neal asked. The older of them did not seem too pleased.

"His business partner."

"Partner looks upset."

"Usually, they work together. Our room is all Avery, which is why they're not exactly simpatico right now," he gossiped. "Keep that to yourself," Brad added quickly when Avery saw them and rose, bringing two glasses of brandy with him.

The man stopped close to Neal and studied him with intense, curious eyes.

"You must be my new rainmaker."

"Yeah," Neal agreed as he grabbed the glass offered by the boss the FBI longed to learn about.

"You're having problems with your associate," he added.

Brad glared at him.

"Bro!"

"I don't wanna get pinched because you're having domestic troubles," Neal smiled with what he hoped was a lofty attitude.

"You've got balls," Avery said as it felt like his eyes were drilling holes in his suit. Neal kept his face.

"I like that," the boss continued. "What my business partners and I discuss isn't of your concern. Just go relax. Have fun.

He gave Brad a nod and left.

"Not cool," Brad said, shaking his head.

Yes, it was, Neal thought for himself. And Avery had expensive taste in cognac. It must be one of the best he had ever tasted. So a rainmaker was worth a glass of the best brandy the planet had to offer. That meant they had something big going on.

Peter sat at home, alone in the darkness. Elizabeth was upstairs making herself ready to go to bed. Soon he would follow her. He was sure Neal would not run, but he could put himself in trouble without doing that. And who knows how long the kid needed to be undercover? He could not be without anklet for long. It was simply too expensive and risky to have agents watching him.

His phone rang. He saw on the display it was Neal.

"It's early for you to be calling it a night, isn't it?" he said.

"Yeah, well, I got the man behind the curtain. His name is Avery Philips."

Gee, that was fast. Neal must have made one hell of impression to be introduced to him on his first day.

"All right, I wanna get moving on this. Meet me in the office in an hour." He put the file he was reading away and was about to rise when:

"I'm in your neighborhood. Why don't we meet at your place?"

What? Was there an angle to this?

"My place?"

"Yeah. It's late for the bland bureau walls. Besides, you got better coffee."

Peter sighed. He really did not want to go anywhere. And he had had Neal sleeping in his guest room, without anklet, and it had worked out.

"Yeah, I do," he agreed.

"I'll be with you in fifteen, tops. See you, Peter."

Neal hung up.

Peter rose and walked up the stairs.

"Hon…"

"I know, you have to leave for work," she answered through the bathroom door.

"No, actually I thought I could work downstairs."

She opened the door and looked at him.

"You do that every night."

"With Neal," he added. "And I'll call Jones. We've got better coffee."

"We'd better. I'll put the kettle on."

She pulled on a robe and walked down the stairs. He called Jones and told him to join.

"At your place?" Jones asked baffled.

"Yeah. Any problem?"

"No. No, not at all. Where do you live?"

Peter told him and when he finished his call Neal was at the door and Elizabeth was there to open.

"Hi, Elizabeth," he greeted her.

"Hello, Neal," she returned. "Nice to see you. Coffee is ready in five. Want anything to eat."

"No, I'm fine, thank you."

The kid grinned when he saw Peter coming down the stairs. He held out the pen.

"You're gonna love this."

He gestured for Neal to sit down by the table while he fetched his laptop. He had just got it running when it was time for his wife to open the door for the next guest.

"Hi, Jones."

"Good evening, Mrs. Burke."

"Come in, make yourself at home."

Jones looked around and Peter waved for him to come in. Elizabeth gave Neal and him a cup of steaming hot coffee and returned to the kitchen for a third cup.

"Jones, can you call off the surveillance of Neal while he is here?"

He nodded and produced his phone as his eyes glanced along the rows of books in one of the bookshelves. El came back out with the third cup of coffee.

"Coffee, my dear," she said to Jones when she offered him the cup.

"Thank you, Mrs. Burke."

"You're welcome." She passed Peter and sent him an annoyed glance. "I was gonna be up in, what, six hours anyways?"

"Thanks, honey."

Peter hooked the pen to an Eagle cable.

"All right. Let's see what you've got recorded here."

What they had heard from the van was already stored in their database. He skipped to the time where they lost audio. Bold performance, as usual, by Neal.

"That's a good start," Peter smiled. "How did you learned his last name?" Peter asked when he listened.

"I mingled and googled," Neal smiled in return. "It doesn't seem to be an alias."

"Jones?"

He was on the phone again.

"Lauren's pulling up intel on Phillips. Check your e-mail."

He opened it and saw the e-mail from Lauren and opened it.

"Got it." He scanned what she had found. "Oh, Avery's been very busy."

"Yeah. I'm gonna go rummage through your drawers and steal your belongings," the kid said out of the blue.

Peter stared at him.

"I'm kidding. I need to go to the bathroom."

Hilarious, Neal, Peter thought. The kid rose.

"You know where it is. Leave the seat down."

"I know. And I did last time, remember?"

Yes, Peter had by far better coffee than the office, but that was not the only reason for Neal to suggesting Peter's home for some night's work. He had promised himself to rule Peter out as a candidate for kidnapping Kate. If there was no ring to be found, it could not be Peter.

On the wall along the staircase, there were photos of Peter and Elizabeth. He stopped by the first. The happy couple somewhere near the Mediterranean, Neal guessed. No ring.

He took two steps to the next photo. Judged by the background they were at a party. Peter's right hand was by El's shoulder and…

"I'll be damned."

Peter had a ring on his right pinky. And not any ring. _The_ ring.

"Everything all right?" Elizabeth asked.

Neal turned and looked down on her. He felt like fainting.

"Never been better," he assured her.

She did not quite seem to believe him at first, but then she smiled.

"Okay."

He pointed upstairs with a sheepish grin.

"First door on the left," she said and returned to the kitchen.

He glanced at the photo again. Peter had the ring. He walked up the stairs and into the bathroom. It could not be. Had he been fooled all along? What could make Peter do this to him? He washed his face with cold water. He needed to think.

Downstairs he walked back to the table and grabbed his jacket hanging over the back of the chair.

"Is it okay if I go home now? It's been a long day."

"Sure," Peter nodded. "But I need you at the office tomorrow. Give them some plausible excuse for skipping a day."

"No problem." He walked towards the door.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Peter called back. Neal turned and saw that his handler held the anklet.

"Peter…"

"Plans change, Neal. You did a too good job, getting us the guy the first day."

Neal returned and put his foot on the seat of the chair. He glared at Peter while Jones put it on.

"And this is how you thank me?"

"Neal—"

"This is how it works," Neal finished the sentence. "Yeah. I got that. My mistake to believe anything else. Can I go now?"

Peter gave him a look that could be one of sympathy. He did not care if it was.

"Yeah, you can go."

Peter had hardly had any sleep when he arrived at the office the next morning. As agents got in he got them occupied in the conference room, researching financial papers on Avery Philips.

He saw Neal come in and drop his hat on his desk. It had not felt right last night. Neal had never reacted like that when they put the anklet on before. Yes, Peter had said he could be off anklet over the night in the morning, but even Neal knew why and that those terms were not valid any longer.

That did not mean that the kid did not have the right to be disappointed. He had a point when he said that Peter thanked him for a good job by putting the anklet back on. As an afterthought, he should have let Neal stay in their guest room again as a compromise.

The kid came in, passed Lauren and Jones and came straight up to him, jamming his hands in his pocket, seeming stiff somehow. Well, he was probably angry with him, still.

"Find anything?" Neal asked, without any hellos.

"Oh, hey. Maybe. Avery's credible on paper. He runs a separate legit brokerage with this man, Daniel Reed." He handed Neal a photo. The kid nodded.

"I saw them arguing."

Neal dropped the photo back on the table as if it was a dead rat.

"They're partners," the kid added with disdain in his voice.

The way he said 'partners'… He really was angry.

"Yeah, but they don't trust each other," Peter said and ignored Neal's glare.

"Sounds par for the course."

Peter was not interested in having a fight. They had a job to do and he was, after all, Neal's handler and Neal was still a prison inmate. The kid should be happy to be off anklet for even a few hours.

"Checked with FINRA. Their business is profitable. But something tells me that Avery's trying to push out Reed. They've run the boiler room scam together in the past for start-up capital but according to your new buddy, Brad, this current shop is all Avery. He's planning something on his own."

Peter noted he had not succeeded in changing Neal's mode or even distract him. Pity. Well, if he had to sulk it was on him. He rounded the table, heading for Hughes' office.

"Let me wrap my head around this a second," Neal said, still standing in the same spot, hands in his pocket, rigid as a statue. "Let's just say I'm Reed, you're Avery. You're trying to screw me. Why?"

"Money," Peter answered without a second thought.

"It's that simple?"

"Isn't it always?" What was the kid thinking about now? This was not a case where the reason for the crime was complicated.

"So you manipulate your friends and people around you?"

"Yeah. All to get rid of you."

"I never saw it coming."

Peter exchanged a look with Jones. He had been there last night and knew what happened. He made an excusing gesture in return. Jones did not get that comment either.

"Neal, why don't you come to my office a minute?"

Neal followed him and Peter closed the door behind him.

"Neal, I understand you're upset and I guess it is about last night."

"You're right about that."

"Well, we have a job to do. We don't have time for your childish behavior. You know why I put that anklet back on and you also know that it was the right thing to do."

The stare he got from Neal told him the kid expected more than that from him.

"Neal, go home and cool off. Come back after lunch. Then we'll have a plan what to do and tomorrow you'll probably be back selling stocks with Brad again. And if so, you'll be off anklet. Okay?"

"If you say so," the young convict replied, opened the door and left.

Neal did not focus on the game of chess in front of him.

"What's with you?" Mozzie asked.

"I found the ring," he replied and his eyes met his friend's. "It's Peter."

The bitterness and disappointment welled up inside him and swung his hand sweeping the major part the chess pieces off the board, shattering them across the floor. The pain in his hand afterward did not outmatch the pain he felt inside by far.

He had not felt like this since he was eighteen and this time he could not do what he did then.

Mozzie sat across the table, silent, removing his glasses.

"I'm so sorry, man. I truly am."

It was good to hear. Mozzie had been right all the time, but he did not gloat. He gave him the sympathy and comfort he needed right now.

"I don't understand why."

He did not believe it was because of money. Before his arrest he had done thorough research on the agent and money did not seem to interest him. A man who no one was able to bribe could not do a thing like this for money.

"He's a suit," Moz said. "This is what they do."

No, it was not that simple either. Peter had upheld a facade of being honest for his entire career. Kate must be a pawn in a much larger game. But he could not figure out what kind of game that could be. A game no one heard Peter Burke playing, but still, he pulled the strings.

"You gonna play it out?"

"What choice do I have?"

Mozzie put his glasses back on.

"Well, they've got you off your anklet for this one. You could run."

He had not told Moz they had put it back on again. But if all went well he would be off it again tomorrow. And he could cut it himself if it came to that.

"I'd need some cash."

Nothing could be done without cash and he wanted options.

"We can get cash. But what are you gonna do?"

"Get the money."


	19. Mistrust

Peter had hoped they would have a plan ready when it was time for lunch but they had not. He walked back and forth along the desk asking for information, sending people to check data, anything that had a hint of being possible to use. When Neal returned, everyone was on their feet and not a single idea came to his mind how this should be solved.

Peter searched out Neal with his eyes but he just looked back with a face as empty as a sheet of paper. He wished it was because he did not have any ideas and not because he did not want to share them.

For now, he just had to ignore the look from his CI.

"We know who we're after," Peter told the group. "Now all we need is proof that Avery is getting a cut of the profits in the room."

"Can't we get the boiler room books?" Jones asked.

Jones was reliable and trusty, but trick people was not his cup of tea. Well, he had too many of those already in the office.

"We make that request, we tip our hands and they close shop," Peter said. "No, we need another way."

"We set up a company they're exploiting. How about we set up a CEO to exploit them?" Lauren asked.

Peter turned to her, surprised. It was not common that she had ideas.

"Where are you going with this?"

"Let's say that the owner of Rhymer Pharmaceuticals is on to the scam. So he walks into Avery's office Earning reports and a share of the profits in exchange for silence."

Peter considered. It was not so bad at all. As a matter of fact, it was a splendid idea.

"We create the right back-story, give this CEO a working history, it could fly," he mused. "Question is who do we send?"

Could Jones do it?

"How about you?" Neal asked. "You look like a guy people can trust."

Peter smiled at the sudden flattering attitude from the kid.

"But I'd also believe you could be bought for the right price," the young man continued. There was something sharp as a dagger in Neal's voice but the second Peter's eyes darted back to the guy he looked innocent and smiled.

"If you played it right, I mean," he added as if smothering a blunder.

Peter glanced around the group of people. No one seemed to notice, and they were used to Neal and him joking. Not even Jones gave him a look.

"All right, that's all," he dismissed them and as they scattered across the office he walked to the kid and placed a friendly hand on his shoulder.

"Do we have a problem?"

"Why would there be a problem?" the young convict replied. "No, I'm just excited to see you go undercover. It doesn't happen very often."

It was the face and the tone of the Neal he knew, and the guy that could be trusted. Peter relaxed.

"It happens more than you think. I still have some active aliases," he told the kid not without pride. Maybe he could use some of the skills Neal had taught him on this one?

"You're a man of many faces," Neal replied, watching him with his intense blue eyes. The trust was there, but Peter felt it was flipped. For once it felt like the kid did not trust him.

Neal left for his desk and Peter remained glancing at him. The kid had been angry with him, but what had passed that night that had affected the kid's trust? Peter did not find an answer to that.

And frankly, he had more important things to do right now.

The next morning it knocked on Neal's door. He had just finished his breakfast. He expected it to be Peter but found Jones instead. He held up a pair of scissors.

"Peter sent me to cut your anklet again. You're back to the boiler room."

Neal smiled and let him in. Jones made big eyes.

"Wow. Now I understand what the talk was all about."

Neal pulled out a chair and put his foot up. Jones cut the band and pocketed the anklet.

"I'll be back tonight," he added.

"To put it back?"

"Yeah. Enjoy while it lasts."

"Yeah," Neal nodded. Peter probably wanted to send him a message. He would probably say it was out of budget to keep him surveyed, now when he was in and was the target's golden boy. To keep him off anklet even off-hours had been as a precaution. But Peter was more than he had seemed to be.

Jones held out the eagle and Neal jammed it in the pocket of his shirt.

They left together.

"Can I drive you there?" Jones asked.

"Thanks, but I'll walk. Gather some strength."

They said their goodbyes and Neal walked.

Brad met him when he walked up to his desk.

"Glad to see you, bro. How's your dad?"

"False alarm."

"Glad to hear it."

Soon he was into the selling again. He walked around with his headset watching the view as well as the office. All salespeople were young, white males. None of them had a ring, likely unmarried. He could not know for sure of course but he guessed they were all heterosexual too, at least that was what they would say if asked. This was a homogeneous group of people who thought they own the world.

"I appreciate your business," Neal smiled into the microphone of his headset. "I'm gonna transfer you over to my associate, Madison."

Brad approached and gestured for him.

"Will you hold on just a moment?" he put the hand over the microphone. "I'm about to close a sale."

"Cool," Brad nodded. "Just don't transfer to Madison."

"Why not?"

"Just do what you're told."

"What am I, an intern here?"

"I have no idea what's going on," Brad admitted. "Avery says freeze out Madison. Just go to Linda for now."

"All right."

Before Neal had time to lift the hand of the microphone, Brad added:

"By the way, Avery's having a party at his place on Saturday. Clear your calendar."

Peter walked into the office of Avery Philips' company and introduced himself. Ten minutes later a secretary picked him up in the lobby and guided him into a boarding room where Avery just ended a meeting. When the other men had left the two of them were alone.

"Mr. Edison," the man smiled and walked up to shake hands. "Glad to meet you."

They shook hands.

"No, you're not," Peter cut him off.

"Direct. I like that."

"I know what you're doing to my company. Rhymer Pharmaceutical isn't worth all that attention. Tell me why a guy like you is buying all those shares?"

It was too much to hope for that he would say that he had, and it was nothing illegal to buy shares.

"You have proof I bought any shares?" Avery answered with a face that was half smiling, half confused. If he was trying to pull a lie he was not half as good as Neal. Peter never let his eyes left Avery's

"We both know how these games are played. I may not work on Wall Street but that doesn't mean I can't smell a shark in a suit." He thought of Mozzie and put the short guy's distaste for suits in it. Avery's eyes wandered for something behind Peter. Either he just did not like the stare and he saw something that actually caught his attention.

"You're making a move," Peter pushed on. "Some kind of move. And you're setting yourself up big. It's what guys like you do."

The man turned and marched back to his papers at the head of the table.

"Why are you here, Mr. Edison?

"Bottom line?"

"Yeah." Avery put his suit jacket on and packed his papers.

"I want in. The money you stand to make from taking over my company means that you owe me board membership to your firm. I'm not talking about controlling interest. Just a taste of the profit."

Avery grabbed his document case and walked towards the door, facing Mr. Edison on the way out.

"Or what?"

"Or I talk to the feds. Or I talk to the shareholders."

Avery smiled and made an arrogant gesture.

"Do you know who I am?

"Yeah. I'll give you until Monday to give me your projected earnings," Peter replied without blinking. "You know what you stand to lose. I wanna know what I stand to make."

Was this direct enough for this scumbag's liking? It seemed to make the guy consider at least. Peter turned to leave.

"I tell you what…" Avery said and the arrogant smile was gone. "I'm having a get-together this weekend."

"I'm not here to be your friend."

"If we're gonna do business off the books, we should discuss it off the clock."

Sounded reasonable.

"Fair enough. What do you have in mind?"

Two days later Peter arrived at a fancy villa by the sea. A bunch of young men was shooting clay pigeons on the lawn, taking turns. He saw Neal among them, standing close to the guy named Brad. Their eyes met briefly.

They had hardly spoken the last couple of days. This was something else than him putting the anklet on when Neal had thought he could leave without. The kid had never held a grudge before. He sorted it out or left it behind, always had as far as Peter knew. Well, now was not the time.

He saw Neal shaking his head when it was his turn to shoot before Avery showed him inside.

Peter looked around. Lots of items, expensive items, bought for show off.

"Nice place."

"Well, what can I say? I'm a boy with my toys."

Peter could nothing more than agree to that. He dropped his cap and scarf on an armchair.

"What's life like without a little fun, right?" Avery said and flung himself down on a sofa.

"How old are you anyway?"

"Twenty-nine, this month," the brat answered. "But just because I'm ahead of the curve doesn't mean that I can't enjoy my success."

Neal was not the only one being spectacular at a young age. But when the kid got into jail for his success this one got rich.

"You wanna see something really cool?" Avery asked, sounding eager to brag.

"Sure."

The young brat bounced out of the sofa.

"Come with me."

He walked ahead of Peter down the stairs and into a small, white room with no other exits and no windows. It was dry and cool in there. One wall was covered with labeled boxes. The other had one row with framed…

"Comics," Peter realized with surprise. It was kid's stuff.

"My prize possessions," Avery said with pride. "I've been collecting since I was a kid."

"You still are a kid," Peter pointed out.

"Guilty as charged," the young man said as he adjusted the hangers of the frames. "I'm Peter Pan in the flesh. Every kid needs inspiration. These are mine. Wanna see this one?"

Peter stepped closer. It was a cover of "Action Detective". He had had a few of them as a kid but this one had its cover intact.

"This is nice," Peter smiled. It was still kid's stuff. Just fun read.

Avery stared at him.

"I could trade that for your car," he pointed out. Peter gave him a glance to see if the brat was kidding, but he seemed serious. Still, he had not had any cases with forged comic books. They must be easy enough to duplicate.

Peter glanced along the line of comics on display.

"You like superheroes."

"Those that go above and beyond what the ordinary human can do? Yeah."

"That's you," Peter grinned. "Minus the cape."

"You'll love this," Avery said, but he did not seem to talk about the comics any longer. "This vault is completely tricked out. If there's a fire, the room clamps down and the air is sucked out in 10 seconds."

"That's pretty cool."

"Damn right."

Avery turned and stared at Peter.

"You steal from me, same thing. The door shuts, you die with no air to hear yourself scream."

Peter glared back.

"You're a little bit too young to scare me, kid," he replied. "I've been in this business since before you were born. You've earned a fortune, good for you. Me, I cannot all of a sudden get that amount of money without causing suspicions. As I've said, I've been around long enough to play safe. You give me what I want and you can keep the rest."

Avery stared at him for a few more seconds. Then he seemed to relax.

"I think we have reached an understanding, don't you think?"

"I hope so."

"Let's join the others, have some fun."

They walked upstairs and out to the young men shooting on the lawn.

Avery and Peter returned outside.

"Mr. Edison, these are the guys," Avery presented them, "Guys, this is Mr. Edison. Who's up?

"Nick is," Brad said.

Neal saw Peter glancing his direction.

"No, I'm good," he assured them. "You go ahead."

"Dude's been passing on us all day," Brad laughed.

"I'm not really a gun guy."

"That's all right," Peter smirked. "Let the grownups play with the big boy toys." He took the rifle and put a cartridge in each barrel.

"Do I know you?" Neal knew Peter was playing a part but this two-faced man playing a third was suddenly too much for him.

"No, I don't think you do."

"Nick, back off," Brad mumbled and made a gesture that Neal ignored.

"It's all right," Peter assured them. "Is there a problem, Nick?" As to remind him that they were Nick Halden and Mr. Edison.

But Neal kept glaring at him and it was as if Peter tried to figure out why he had such hate in his look. Nick had no reason to hate Mr. Edison. But Neal had.

"Nick, take the shot," Avery commanded.

Neal gave Avery a look then grabbed the rifle Brad reloaded, still not closed.

"Pull" he called out and when the disk flew away, he closed the rifle and fired, hitting his mark. He had had time to let it go further away than needed and still his shot shattered the clay.

"Pull," he called again and hit the second spot on. It was nothing but impressive, but he hated every second he held that rifle.

The men applaud him. Peter stared at him, surprised. Well, there was no way he could have known his convict could handle a gun. He saw Avery staring as well.

"Just because I don't like guns, doesn't mean I can't use one," Neal told Peter and placed the rifle back on the table.

"Damn. That was crazy!" Avery expressed with awe giving Neal the same curious stare he had when they first met.

People arrived and Neal saw Madison being led inside the house by two men. He exchanged a look with Peter and he too looked concerned. Avery grabbed the rifle from Peter's hand and removed the cartridges, replacing them with others from his pocket.

"Why don't you boys keep this party going? You can have a cocktail, shoot something. I've got some business to take care of."

Peter looked helpless and Neal felt cold all over when he saw Avery walking towards the house with a loaded gun. The other guys moved towards the house too, with the hope for a cocktail probably.

"Why is Madison here?" Neal asked Brad as he passed.

"Shoot some birds, man," he grinned.

"They know she's the mole," Neal mumbled to Peter.

"Damn it. This is gonna go bad fast," his handler said and considered. "Back my play."

"No."

"Neal, what is wrong with you?" Peter hissed.

"I saw your ring," Neal hissed back, tired of games.

"What?"

"I know you've got Kate," Neal whispered.

Peter's reaction was not what he had expected. Peter was annoyed, instead of stunned or denying.

"A lot of us have those rings. Not now. Back my play," Peter insisted.

It was something that did not make sense to Neal and he felt confused again, not sure what to believe.

"I know you've got Kate," Neal whispered. So this was what it was all about. It was just too insane to be true.

"A lot of us have those rings. Not now! Back my play!" Peter whispered, desperate to save Madison's life. Without waiting for an answer, Peter turned to Avery.

"Hey, Avery! This guy's been playing you! You got yourself a spy!"

"What, are you selling me out now?" Neal whispered, angry and confused.

Peter met his eyes.

"Trust me. I'll explain it later," he whispered and hoped that Neal somewhere still had faith enough to trust him in this.

"I knew I recognized this son of a bitch," he continued, speaking to Avery.

Avery, Brad, and all the others walked back towards them.

"What do you mean?"

"Search him!" Peter commanded, pointing and Neal. The kid did not say a word. Peter could barely imagine what went through his head right now. If he had thought he had betrayed him and held Kate, he should be grateful as long Neal simply played along.

Soon two of the more goon-like guys was behind Neal and Brad doing a search worthy of an amateur. Neal sent Peter a glance.

"Check everything," Peter demanded. "Check his pockets."

Then Brad pulled out the eagle pen from the chest pocket of the kid's jacket, where it hung in plain view. Neal exchanged a look with Peter again. Behind the frozen quiet facade, there were probably a mess of thoughts, but he kept cool if only to save Madison.

Brad unscrewed the pen and what was inside was nothing like an ordinary pen.

"What is that?" Avery asked and stepped up to them. He grabbed the exposed gadget from Brad. "What is this?"

He inspected it, found a button. 'What is this?' the tiny speaker repeated. Avery realized at once what it was and stared at the kid and then turned on a grin of a reaper.

"Who are you?"

Neal's eyes searched Peter's for guidance. Peter met it eyes and with minimal mimic encouraged him to follow the lead.

"Like he said. I'm a spy," Neal said with a voice that could freeze lava.

"Two years ago, this guy tried to extort me on insider trading," Peter filled out the story. "You can't trust him."

"Oh, I'm the one you can't trust?" Neal said. "That's a good one."

"Who are you?" Avery studied him. "SEC? FBI?"

Neal glanced at Peter again, and he helped him out.

"You really think the FBI could afford a gadget like that? No. He's a corporate spy." The last was a direct instruction to Neal.

"Who do you work for?"

"Your partner, Daniel Reed," Neal replied without blinking or hesitation. Peter relaxed and had to fight a smile. He just loved that kid, no matter how stupid it was.

"Reed?" Avery blinked.

"You think he doesn't know what you've been planning? He's on to you."

This was not the laughing, playful Neal. This was the Neal that was sure he was betrayed and seemed full of hate. Still, he had not lost his ability to lie. As a matter of fact, he could pass for a villain, threatening Avery.

What he said hit his mark. Their mutual bad-guy turned away, fighting his features, engulfing this news.

After a moment of contemplation Avery turned to one of the guys.

"You take Madison home. Put her into her car, give her a bottle of wine. Tell her she's the employee of the month."

Peter exhaled.

"How do we keep this quiet?" Brad asked.

"We're gonna put him on that trap and launch him off the lawn."

"You really gonna play the whole bad guy thing?" Peter asked. "You buy him. Flip him on Reed."

Avery turned to Neal and gestured with his rifle which he loaded to use on Madison.

"What's Reed planning?"

"He knows you were gonna cut him out of his half. He hired me to find out how so he can cut you out first."

"How am I supposed to flip him if I can't even trust him?" Avery asked Peter, still glaring at Neal.

"Pay me in stock," Neal answered. "I help you, I get rich. I screw you, I get nothing."

Well played, Neal, Peter thought.

Avery turned, considering.

"I want 5 percent," the kid added.

Peter stared and Avery swung around and did the same.

"The cajones on this one," Avery admitted, and Peter agreed. He figured there was admiration there as well. They were the same age and both bold and rule-bending.

"I'll give you 2 percent."

"Three," Neal pushed.

"Okay." Avery returned the desiccated pen into Neal's pocket and pat it. "Three."


	20. Running out of air

Neal felt more confused than ever. Last time he had felt this way he had escaped. He had been eighteen then. Then he had got the truth pushed up in his face and he had been unable to handle it so he had run. When he had found out about Peter and the ring he had felt the same, but stayed. Now he was not sure what was the truth any longer. Maybe he had pulled the rug away from under his feet all by himself this time.

He had left Avery and the party as soon as their deal was settled. Then he had walked aimlessly for an hour before he realized he had no anklet and no functional eagle.

Running was not an option. And he needed to know the truth. He walked to the Burke's and found Elizabeth alone. She invited him in and made them tea while they waited for Peter. He held his cup, not drinking.

"Neal, what is it?"

"Peter is the man with the ring," he blurted.

El stared at him and sat down by the table.

"And then he has Kate," he continued, looking at her.

"Neal, are you out of your mind? Peter doesn't have Kate."

"You sure about that?"

"Yes, I am." She was firm in her voice.

"How often is he gone?" Neal persisted. Peter could hide his secret from her as well. "How many late nights when you don't know where he is?"

"Stop it. Peter is the best thing that ever happened to you. And you're smart enough to know that."

"Yeah? Well, he has the ring." He held up the well-thumbed photo and dropped it before Elizabeth.

"That's your evidence?" Peter asked, coming down the stairs. So he was at home. But he did not seem angry in any way.

"Here's the ring," his handler said and placed a ring on the table in front of him. Neal picked it up. It was exactly as the one on the photo.

"It's a 10-year FBI pin. Put in 10 years, you get one. Most of us have them made into a ring," Peter explained.

This ring was real. But it was not the one of the photo. It could not be. There were more of them out there and this was Peter's.

"I've never seen you wear it," Neal said, but it felt like a stupid comment. It did not prove anything.

"It's a fraternity thing."

"Come with us to the bureau commendation dinner," Elizabeth suggested. "You'll see hundreds of them."

Neal's world stopped to spin. It became sane and real again. Peter was Peter. The man he felt he safe with. The only person in the world that he trusted completely.

A thought crossed his mind.

"Will I get one?"

He met Peter's eyes and saw him smile.

"No." His face broke into a familiar grin and Neal joined.

Now, sitting here, holding the ring, understanding what it was, it felt so utterly absurd that he had even considered Peter to be his enemy.

"I'm sorry, Peter." It felt inadequate, but no words could ever mend the harm he could have caused.

Peter towered over him as a comforting, fatherly figure.

"I promise you, we'll figure out who it is."

"Whoever it is is with the bureau," Neal said.

"Yup, that is a problem. But I need you to help me get Avery first," Peter said. "Go in and play Reed against him."

Neal felt like himself again. He grinned, knowing that Peter did his best to not make him feel awkward and leave it behind.

"Make him think his partner's betraying him?" He sent a timid smile to El who got the irony.

He rose and took his jacket.

"Maybe he'll do something stupid," Peter grinned back.

It was time to leave. But this time it was not with an urge to run.

"Thank you, guys."

"It's all right," his handler returned.

And it really felt it was. Peter had not with one word blamed him for jumping into conclusions. All he had done was giving him comfort and explanations. He closed the door behind him and walked home.

Peter had just walked upstairs to fetch his ring when Neal came. He did not blame the kid for his ideas. If he had no idea what kind of ring it was and the number of people having them, what would he think? Neal came from another world than him. And they were two different people in the first place. He picked up the ring from its box and then stood at the top of the stairs listening to Neal and El talking.

He had thought Neal trusted him completely. Had he been mistaken? Or was it because the kid had trusted him that he felt so easily betrayed? He had no information about Neal before he was eighteen. Nothing. The name was his real name, but still, the kid turned up out of thin air when he was eighteen. What had he been through? Had he been betrayed? Did the kid just go through a dejavu of a childhood trauma?

He heard Neal say that he had the ring and he walked down.

"That's your evidence?" Peter asked "Here's the ring," he said and placed it on the table in front of Neal, who picked it up.

"It's a 10-year FBI pin," Peter explained "Put in 10 years, you get one. Most of us have them made into a ring."

"I've never seen you wear it," Neal said.

No, because it was in his way, felt clunky and… well… The wedding ring was enough of gold.

"It's a fraternity thing."

"Come with us to the bureau commendation dinner," Elizabeth said with one of her warm smiles. "You'll see hundreds of them."

"Will I get one?" Neal asked and Peter knew instantly that the kid was back to normal.

"No." Neal made a joke about his situation again. Or was he? Maybe he did want to work for the Bureau. In either case, Neal was back. Peter grinned and the young man returned it. Then he grew serious again.

"I'm sorry, Peter."

It was a humble acceptation, not fighting facts. For some reason, Peter came to think of when he arrested Neal the first time.

"I promise you, we'll figure out who it is," Peter assured him.

"Whoever it is, he's with the bureau," Neal said.

"Yup, that is a problem. But I need you to help me get Avery first," Peter said, steering away from Neal's embarrassment. "Go in and play Reed against him."

"Make him think his partner's betraying him?" Neal gave them a shy smile.

"Maybe he'll do something stupid." Luckily enough for both of them, and for Madison, Neal had not.

The kid rose and took his jacket.

"Thank you, guys." He gave them an awkward face.

"It's all right."

Peter watched him leave and sat down on the chair the kid left.

"You gonna tell him you met with Kate?" El asked when Neal was out of the house.

"I don't think he trusts me enough for me to tell him what happened that night," Peter said. How could he say that he had spoken to Kate after this? But he had to, he knew that. If it turned up later, and from someone else… "After the case, then I'll decide."

Monday morning he walked into Avery's office building. Not the one where he kept his troupes of salesmen, but the real, official office, the legal front. Now he was there to earn his three percent as a bought corporate spy.

Avery left a meeting and stopped in the corridor, glaring into a conference room across the hall were Reed sat with a young brunette. Neal wondered what made Avery want to betray his partner. It was not just a matter of profit. Then they could go separate ways as friends.

"Now what?" he asked since Avery seemed less inclined to start the conversation. Neal jammed his hands into his pockets.

"I want you to tell Reed that we're gonna dump the stock next Friday," Avery said without taking his eyes of Reed.

"When is the real dump?"

"This Friday," the man replied and turned to Neal. "While we're celebrating, he'll get to watch his stock become completely worthless."

Avery pattered his back and returned to the meeting room.

Did Reed, the older of the two, have a charm, Avery lacked. Was that was this was all about. Did Reed get laid when Avery did not? And Peter considered him childish. Avery knocked them all out of the board if his theory about him and Reed were true.

It was not far to the conference room. He passed the door without knocking and stopped right in front of Reed where he leaned towards the table, vowing a beautiful woman. The brunette's long, slender legs were in the way and he pushed her feet aside.

He bent towards her, beaming.

"Excuse me. Could you give us a minute, please?"

She sent Reed a look.

"Yeah, go ahead," he nodded.

"Thank you."

She rose and left with swaying hips.

"This better be good," Reed grumbled.

"It is. You know who I am?"

Reed rose.

"Yeah, you're Avery's new rainmaker."

Neal turned with his back towards the windows and Avery's looks. Not only did he hide what he was saying visually as well, but he also hid what he held in his hand, by his chest.

"Your partner's cutting you out."

"What? Get lost, kid."

Neal pressed a button on the device he was holding. 'I want you to tell Reed that we're gonna dump the stock next Friday. When is the real dump? This Friday. While we're celebrating, he'll get to watch his stock become completely worthless.'

Reed watched across Neal's shoulder, towards Avery's meeting room no doubt. Then he pressed a button on the table and Neal turned to see the windows going all opaque. He put the device back in his pocket and waited.

"Son of a bitch. I'm gonna kill—"

Neal held out his hand.

"You do something, you lose your chance to win the upper hand."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Figured it might be worth something to you."

Reed watched him carefully.

"Why do I need you?"

"Because Avery trusts me." Neal took a small step closer. "I'm trying to make a profit. We can take him down," he told Reed in that seductive voice he had tried to use on Peter once, to get out. "Make some money in the process."

Reed gave him a look of disgust, but also of temptation.

"And what do you need?"

Thank God Reed was easier to manipulate than Peter.

"Access. I want his financial records. Proof he's been running these rooms. We can hold that information over his head. Problem is I couldn't find anything on his home or office computer."

"Avery doesn't trust computers. Says they're too easy to hack into." Bummer, Neal thought. "But he has a ledger."

When Neal came into the office after lunch on Monday he was excited.

"There's no paper trail because he literally keeps it on paper," he told Peter and Lauren who happened to be there. "Find this ledger, we got him."

"We need to figure out where he keeps it," Lauren reminded them.

Peter grinned.

"I know exactly where he keeps it."

"Where?"

"Get me the blueprints of Avery's house. Talk to the security company that he used."

There, at least, there would be a proper paper trail to follow.

"Okay," Lauren nodded and left.

"Neal, has Avery told you what to do now?"

"Yeah, I'm still the best sales guy they got, so, I'll raise their profit, and mine, by keeping on selling."

"Alright, good. We keep the van close by, just in case."

Neal moved to leave.

"One more thing," Peter said. Neal halted. Peter glanced around the office and pulled Neal aside. "Are you okay with Jones coming by every day?"

"Do you ask if I mind Jones or the anklet?"

Peter smiled.

"Both, I guess."

"Jones and I had a beer together last night."

"Good to hear. And the anklet?"

"Does not drink beer, sadly enough." Peter frowned. Neal got the hint. "Honestly, Peter, I get reminded of it twice a day now. I could live without that reminder. I know this may sound strange, but I prefer when it's there all the time."

It did not sound strange at all to Peter.

"Since it's not an option to keep it off all the time, I understand." He looked at the kid and considered. "You did good work today. How about we skip the anklet tonight and I put a few agents outside instead?"

Neal's face broke up in a wide smile.

"Thanks, Peter! I knew you trusted me."

"Take it easy, kid. You still—"

"Have agents outside. I know. What I meant is, that you trust me not to con them and leave."

Peter nodded.

"Something like that. Get back here tomorrow, same time."

Neal walked as if he floated on clouds and put his hat on with a flip of his hand. Peter smiled. It felt good to be able to hand out a reward or two sometimes as well. Besides from a justified house arrest, Neal had been set up and arrested and placed himself in danger on behalf of the FBI without objecting more than once. The kid deserved a little slack. Just a little.

Neal had the eagle in his pocket when he left and Peter saw on the screen that at least the pen moved itself to the kid's apartment with a stop or two on the way that Peter checked up and found out they were stores and a market. Then the pen stayed at Neal's and the agents outside had nothing to report. Peter went to bed with a smile.

Neal did indeed stop in a few stores and at the market. Before he did he also made a phone call to make sure he had someone to share his dinner with. June sounded more than delighted.

It was fun to cook for someone who appreciated the effort. June was also full of positive vibes and who saw every glass as half-full. Not that Mozzie was always a half-empty guy, but tonight Neal just wanted to enjoy the temporary freedom, not hear a lot of theories and ideas about what he should do and not do. Neal figured that what he wanted was to feel normal for once.

So he made June dinner up in his apartment with his minimal kitchen and they enjoyed it over a glass of fine wine and small talk about nothing and everything.

"So Peter let you leave without the anklet?" she asked surprised.

"Just for the night, but yeah, he did."

"You must have done a good job then. I'm so proud of you, dear."

Neal felt himself growing at least an inch by her praise.

In the morning Peter watched the eagle pen move to the boiler room and Jones confirmed that Neal passed their van and they heard him loud and clear from within the office.

"Relax, honey!" El told him. "Neal won't let you down. You just miss the chase."

"Are you saying that I want him to escape?"

"No. No, not really. But…" she lingered on the rest, "I think you presume he is up to something just because you enjoyed the challenge he gave you when you chased him. And yes, I think part of you hope that he will offer a mystery for you to figure out."

Peter objected to this. He wanted Neal to succeed, to be a good citizen when he served his time.

"I'm sure you do, hon," El smiled. "But you're a smart man too, and smart people need challenges as a sword needs a wet-stone to stay sharp, to quote another smart fellow. And Neal has offered you the biggest and funniest challenge so far."

Peter gave his wife a kiss.

"Neal is smart too," he said.

"Mhmm," she agreed. "And that's why it's a good thing you keep an eye on him because he needs challenges too. And you can only hope that catching bad guys will be enough for him."

Peter hoped so too and left for work.

Neal turned up in the office later that day, as agreed. Peter took him, Jones, and Lauren, into the conference room where Lauren presented 3D blueprints of Avery's house. She browsed passed them quickly and told them why she dismissed them.

Then the comic book room whirled on the screen.

"This has gotta be where Avery holds the book, with his comics," Peter said. "It's a perfect location."

"Yeah," Lauren agreed. "According to the company who installed it we're dealing with a state-of-the-art system. It's the same kind they use in the top museums. When triggered, a polycarbonate glass wall seals the room and then a hydraulic vacuum sucks out the fire dies, no damage to what's inside."

"And if I'm in there, no air to breathe," Neal pointed out.

"Well, there is a kill switch, but we don't know where it is."

"Wonderful," Neal replied, irony oozing.

"Yeah," Peter agreed. It was far from an ideal situation.

"Tech lab has another cool gadget for you," Jones said producing a gadget from his pocket. "This mini breather. It'll give you air just in case the system is triggered."

"It'll fit perfectly in one of these." Peter brought something from the inner pocket.

"Cigar tube," Neal smiled. "Nice."

He placed the mini breather in the tube and closed it.

"FBI's been watching 'Thunderball'. Breaking out all the toys on this one."

"Anything happens, Jones and Lauren will be stationed with a unit outside the property," Peter assured the kid.

"Five minutes worth of air?"

"Yup," Jones nodded.

"What's your response time?" Neal wanted to know.

Jones glanced at Peter.

"Roughly… five… minutes."

"Roughly?"

"I'll be at the house in case anything goes wrong," Peter said.

"How're you gonna pull that off?"

"They're dumping Friday. So everyone's having a little party to celebrate. We're both on the invite list."

Neal nodded. He had not known Peter was invited too.

"So just— Just so I'm clear… if anything goes wrong, I suffocate?"

"Then we'll make sure nothing goes wrong," Peter said and ended the meeting. Five minutes was plenty of time when they were prepared. And maybe, just maybe, Neal thought twice before doing a stunt this time.

Neal did not seem convinced and glanced at them when they left.

"Or I can practice holding my breath," he heard the kid mumbled.


	21. The Music box

Neal was at Avery's house again. It was full of the young, eager brats he had spent his last two weeks with. Tonight would be his last day with them. He did not mind to see them behind bars. They may not be ruthless all of them, but they were greedy and thought they had the right to trick other people of their money without a second thought.

Yes, Neal was aware of the irony, since he was a conman too, but he had got caught and was a convict, with every right. Still, Neal took pride in his history of never harming anyone.

He saw Peter mingle with Avery, heard something about Ferraris. He himself was stuck with Brad who for some reason seemed to adore him even more since he was exposed as a spy. That brat had to consider his priorities.

"What are you gonna do with your money?" Brad asked.

"Put it in a secure 401 K and mutual funds," Neal replied. "It's all about security, bro."

Brad gave him a glance as if he thought of him as a fifty-year-old man.

"I'm just messing with you, man," Neal grinned. "I'm gonna buy a cruise ship, hollow it and turn it into a floating mansion," he fabled. He had never given much thought to what he would do if got that amount of money.

"Damn," Brad said, impressed.

"How about you?"

"I'm gonna buy an island," he said, almost with a shrug.

"An island?"

"I'll learn how to play the guitar and chill."

A waitress with a big smile and a long, blond hair offered them a glass of white wine.

"You don't need an island for that," Neal told him while he took a glass and smiled at the woman.

"Don't kill the dream, broheim." They clinked their glasses and sipped.

Neal's eyes followed the waitress leaving with her tray of empty glasses.

"I got dibs on that one," he told Brad.

"Oh, yeah? Does she know that?"

"Since when does that matter?" Neal replied with a grin, repeating Brad's own line. Brad laughed and Neal followed the woman.

"You're gonna be back in time for the celebration, right?" Brad called after him.

Neal picked up the cigar case from his pocket.

"Wouldn't want this to go to waste."

Brad waved, grinned and left to talk to someone else.

When Neal saw that no eyes were upon him he placed the glass on first free space. He saw the waitress walk into the kitchen but he passed the door and continued downstairs to the comic room. Peter had described the way for him and he had seen the blueprints.

"Heading to the comics," he mumbled for Jones and the others in the van outside.

He entered the room and gazed around the walls. Nothing wrong with comic books but if he ever got rich he would buy art and maybe read comic books.

There was a table, just as Peter had said and on the table was an elegant wooden box. A cigar box.

Neal leaned his head on the side and studied it.

"No…" It was too easy. He opened the lid. Inside was a journal. No alarms seemed to had been set off. He had still air to breath. Avery got to have the ledger protected. Neal scanned the outside of the box. On the back, there was a wire.

"Tripwire," he mumbled. Made sense. He studied the inside and tried to figure out how not to set off the alarm. "Must be a pressure plate."

They were tricky in all its simplicity. He looked around. No one was coming and there was little he could use on the walls.

"Hey, guys," he whispered to the eagle. "I can just take the ledger and hope you guys get here in time, but I don't even know if you can hear me down here."

Peter sat with Avery in a huge leather armchair.

"Ten more minutes before we're rich," Avery said.

"We're already rich," Peter reminded him.

"Billionaire rich, man. Buffett rich. Think I might wanna go to space. Catch a ride on those Russian rockets up to the space station."

Peter glanced at the young man. He was about to get into a small, crowded area for sure, but more on the ground.

"You do that," he said. Then his phone was ringing. "Excuse me." He rose and grabbed the phone. "Edison."

"Yeah, heads up," Jones said. "Reed came through the front door."

"Hold your position, but be ready to move," Peter told him.

"You got it," he replied and ended the call.

Then Reed marched into the room.

"Avery."

"Reed. What's up?"

"You're a son of a bitch," Reed hissed.

Avery rose and approached his business partner.

"Why don't you ease back on the hostility?"

"What are you celebrating?" Reed demanded, hands on his hips. "We don't have anything to celebrate for another week."

"We're relaxing. I figured the boys could use a little reward for all their hard work."

Avery smiled towards the young men in the room, and a few raised their glasses.

"No," Reed shook his head. "I couldn't let this go. I know what you've been up to."

"Don't you come into my house bringing all this chaos." Avery's smile was all gone now. Peter moved towards the staircase, one step at a time.

"Shut up. I've been talking to your spy buddy."

Reed was not keeping it discreet and Avery did not seem to like it.

"My spy?" he repeated in a low voice. "My spy? You hired him. I'm just flipping him back on you."

"What are you talking about?"

"You're gonna play stupid with me?"

"You thought he worked for me?" Reed more or less yelled. "I never hired a spy!"

That was Peter's signal to leave. He heard Avery ask where Nick was, then he was down the stairs. He hurried down the corridor and turned the corner and saw Neal by the box in the comic book room.

"Neal!" he called out and ran towards the room. Neal stared at him for a second then he pulled the ledger out of the box, trigging the alarm. The polycarbonate glass wall lowered behind Peter just as he passed and then he heard a bullet hit it.

Behind him, outside the glass wall, were Avery and Reed. And Reed had just fired his shotgun into the bulletproof polycarbonate.

And now he was locked inside a room that would soon be out of air, together with Neal.

"All right," Peter said staying calm. "We need to find the kill switch."

Neal dug in his pocket and produced the mini-breather.

"Take this," he offered.

"No, no," Peter refused. "We look together. We share the oxygen until Jones comes."

"Not enough time. Five minutes for one, two and a half for two."

"No, Neal."

"We're wasting time!" Neal looked him into the eye. "Peter, I trust you."

Neal held out the gadget and Peter gave up arguing. He took the mini-breather and they started looking for the kill switch. While they worked through the rows of boxes and moved the frames Peter noted Avery and Reed remained on the other side as if they just waited to see them die. He met the eyes of Avery for a second and that kid sure looked forward to their death, no doubt about it.

He saw Neal trying to call out, but there was no air to transmit the sound. Neal pointed at a button on the wall. Then slid down the wall and fainted.

Peter rushed over to press the button but then he realized that Avery raised his rifle on the other side of the glass. The second he pushed the button, he would get shot. He shook the kid's shoulder. There was no response. He needed oxygen or he would die. Neal had given him the breather because he trusted him.

He pulled his gun, dropped the breather, aimed at Avery, and pressed the button.

Then he grabbed his gun with both hands and moved if Avery should fire.

"NOW! DROP YOUR WEAPON!" Jones yelled as he and Lauren and their troupe rounded the corner. When Avery had overcome the first surprise he actually took aim for Peter again. Reed already had his hands raised in surrender.

"Drop your weapon!" Jones repeated and Avery gave up and dropped the rifle.

"Hands in the air!"

Peter put his gun back and knelt on the floor beside the kid. He put his palm in front of his face. He felt the kid's breath.

"All right," Peter mumbled. Now he just needed the get his continuousness back.

"Come on, Neal. Come on." He wanted to tell the lungs to start working properly again, to take deep breaths.

Neal's eyes opened and he took a deep breath.

"Yeah, attaboy," Peter relaxed. "Breathe."

The kid looked at him.

"That was a long five minutes."

"Yeah."

Peter rose and pulled Neal to his feet. He swayed, and leaned against the table.

They watched Reed and Avery getting cuffed and followed the team upstairs. Peter had an arm around Neal's shoulders as he was still wobbly, and Brad the other young hotrods being cuffed stared. Brad would probably go to prison, but the other salesmen? Probably not. If they thought it was a legit sales job, and nothing else could be proven, the little fish would go. But as long as the big fish were caught, Peter did not mind.

It felt good to be out in the open air. It had felt strange and terrifying to breathe and not gain anything from it. It was not like holding your breath underwater, but breathing where there should be air and found nothing.

He and Peter sat down. He rubbed his eyes.

"What you did in there…" Peter said with admiration in his voice.

"Ah. I knew you'd take care of it."

"You're crazier than I am," his handler laughed. That was not hard. Neal laughed, too. Yeah, they were a crazy couple alright.

"You got my back, right?" Neal asked, suddenly in need of some extra comfort.

Peter nodded.

"Yeah."

Then he was silent as if there was more to come. Neal watched him, waiting.

"There's something I need to tell you. And I need you to listen to everything before you react."

"I don't like the sound of that."

"I know what he wants from you."

"Who?"

"The guy in the picture with Kate. You call him 'the man with the ring.'"

Neal stared. This was unexpected and confusing.

"How could you know that?"

Peter looked him in the eyes.

"Kate told me. And now I'm gonna tell you."

Neal reminded himself that Peter asked him to hear him out but this was like getting a bucket of cold water thrown at you.

"You talked to Kate?"

"The night you confronted Fowler."

So Peter had known about that too? Well, with his anklet it was not that difficult to put two and two together. Maybe he even had Jones on his tail. He had been too upset to be careful.

"Yeah, he said he was investigating you."

"He is," Peter nodded, dug in the pocket of his jacket and handed him a folded paper. Neal unfolded it and stared at the black-n-white photo of Kate and the hand with the ring.

"This picture was on my desk the same day that you had it."

What? When he had shown Peter this photo…

"And you never said anything."

"What was I gonna tell you?" he shrugged. "I recognized the ring. This guy with Kate is with the bureau. I started poking around, trying to figure out who it is."

"It's Fowler."

"I think so," Peter nodded.

Neal realized that even if Peter had kept things from him, his handler had worked for him and not against him, trying to find things out the way he thought best. His handler had never promised to tell him everything. Peter was a fed and he a convict. Neal felt he had nothing to blame Peter for. On the contrary.

"Yeah, you start digging around, that's when he bugged your phone."

"The phone, the OPR investigation, Mentor, all of it. He wanted to know what I was on to."

"That was Kate."

"I passed a word to her, saying I wanted to meet, talk about you."

This was over three weeks ago, Neal realized. Kate had called him at the office when they celebrated that he was back. Peter had driven him home. Had he then went to see Kate? Well, he had burst off to confront Fowler. Had Peter been able to meet because he knew that Fowler was not with Kate?

"What happened?" Neal asked in a whisper.

Peter sighed.

"I had rented a hotel room. I waited for her and she came. She pointed a gun at me, but I told her to put it down and, finally, she did. I asked her to leave you alone. She said she couldn't. I asked her what she wanted and that I could get it for her. She told me she wanted a thing you stole, a music box. 'That's my price' she said."

Neal breathed. He trusted Peter. He knew for sure that he could believe in Peter's story. Still, it all seemed so unlike Kate. Kate would never point a gun at anyone. And say 'that's my price', 'my' not 'his'.

"He's controlling her," Neal insisted. Kate could not do this to him. Peter had been there, she was playing Peter.

"I don't think so," Peter shook his head.

"She's not working for him."

"When are you gonna face the facts?" Peter asked. "She may not be on your side."

"You're wrong!"

"Oh, damn it, Neal, come on!" Peter got to his feet, frustration glowing about him. "I looked into her eyes. I didn't see concern for you."

"No. This is an angle." He could not handle the idea that Kate had done this to him by her own free will. It did not make any sense. Then she could just have asked him for the box.

"He's controlling her," Neal said, in spite of he had just told the kid.

"I don't think so," Peter said gently.

"She's not working for him," the kid persisted.

"When are you gonna face the facts?" Peter asked. "She may not be on your side." The man who so humbly accepted that he was under arrest, that he had been mistaken about Peter's part in the story, could not see and accept what was right in front of his eyes this time.

"You're wrong!"

"Oh, damn it, Neal, come on!" Peter jumped to his feet, frustrated on the verge of angry. One of the smartest guys on the planet and still so naive and stupid when it came to love.

"I looked into her eyes. I didn't see concern for you."

"No. This is an angle."

Peter huffed. Alright, be as it may with that.

"She wants this music box," Peter turned focus to what could be solved. "Do you know where it is?"

"I might," Neal replied, avoiding eye contact.

"Come on. You're gonna cut me off now?" Peter barked. What do you think of me? That I'll arrest you for something you stole years ago, that I ask you to use?

It was as if Neal heard Peter's thoughts. He closed his eyes for a second and nodded.

"I know where it is."

"Good," Peter breathed. "So, what is it?"

"Catherine the Great had a room in St. Petersburg made of amber. You've heard of it?"

"Yeah. Dubbed the eighth wonder of the world. The Nazis looted it in World War ll."

"One of the things they took was an amber music box."

"It's gotta be worth a few bucks."

"Yeah," Neal nodded. "But not enough for all this."

No, Peter had to agree to that. Why had Fowler not sent this Tulane to steal the box, instead of the necklace to frame Neal? If he did not know where it was, he took a great deal of trouble to find it. More than it could be worth in itself. Why?

"There's something inside it," Peter realized and smiled.

"It's holding some secret."

"I wanna see it," Peter said. Stolen goods or not, this was a mystery he just had to solve.

Neal looked at him, not that amused.

"I'm gonna need some time."

"But you'll keep me within the loop?"

"Peter…"

"I'm not gonna cuff you for this, Neal. I told you I don't want to frame you for something you did before your first arrest, remember?"

Neal gave him an odd look.

"It's complicated, Peter."

"Okay."

When Neal came home that afternoon he felt light-hearted and pleased. He could trust Peter and Peter had worked to help him, even if that did not mean that he shared more info than he felt he needed to. And finally, Neal knew what was asked of him to get Kate back. Things were moving towards a solution instead of constant agony.

There was a Mozzie-knock on the door and Neal opened.

"Well, it's ready," his friend said and stepped inside. "Are you running?"

Mozzie sure looked like he was ready to leave in proper outdoor clothing and all. Neal smiled when he realized he had forgotten about the frustration and the thoughts of running. He pulled up the leg of his pants and showed Mozzie the anklet.

"You folded," Mozzie sighed. "You're back in chains."

"Yeah. I have to see this one through."

"Okay. What have I missed?"

"Fowler wants Catherine the Great's music box."

"Oh, that. A good looking piece. One of your best jobs. How do you know?"

"Peter talked to Kate."

"Oh. She could tell the Suit but not you?"

Neal shrugged. That was a mystery yet to be solved, but Peter had different ways and different channels.

"So Fowler wants the music box, let's give it to him. Where is it?"

Neal made an embarrassed face.

"I… don't have it," he confessed.

"What?" Moz stared at him. "You told everyone you had it."

"I never told anyone," Neal pointed out. "Everyone assumed I took it and I… never corrected them."

Mozzie, being one of those he never corrected, let this new information settle. He folded his arms and glanced and Neal with a smile lurking.

"It did make you appear superhuman."

Neal made an apologetic shrug.

"Image is everything."

Mozzie's smile was as wide as his face.

"Now what?" his friend asked.

"Now I find the music box."

"And steal it?"

Neal did not reply, just gave his friend a look. Mozzie grinned and gave him a gracious nod.

"Welcome back."


End file.
